


Til Kingdom Come

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE CONSENT, Anal Fingering, Break Up, Broken Stockholm Syndrome, Canon-Typical Violence, Dalish and Krem: Seduction Dream Team, Declarations Of Love, Dehumanization, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Topping, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, Hand Jobs, Hope, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Recovery, References to Abuse, Riding, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Rescue, Short lived suicidal thoughts, Sign Language, former pleasure slave Dorian, temporarily mute Dorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 172,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After saving an illegally enslaved apostate mage from an Orlesian noble, The Iron Bull finds himself with a new member of the Chargers.  Dorian, his magic and his voice bound, is a beautiful and enigmatic addition to his team, and soon finds himself close to his new family.</p><p>Swept up in the Inquisition after a plea from a friend, The Iron Bull and Dorian find themselves carefully dancing around the ideas of home, family, love, and what it means to truly be free.  As The Iron Bull wrestles with the Qun and what it will cost him, Dorian comes to grips with his past as both Altus and slave, and together they begin paving the way for a future neither expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dorian

Bull had been completely convinced that there was no way in hell he was taking this shit of a job until he saw the slave.

It was a rather nice day in early Autumn, the sun sitting nicely at noon above their heads, and the Chargers were out scouting the lands about four miles around from the fabulously oversized Orlesian mansion where he and Krem were conducting business with a thoroughly slimy nobleman by the name of Guillame Delacourt. He was no more or less slimy than most Orlesian nobles, but slimy none the less and it was only Krem’s presence at his side and the fact that they definitely needed to increase their funds that was convincing him to stay and listen to the man. 

“So you can see why it is…problematic,” the noble finished, and Bull was about to tell him where to stuff his problems when there was the faint jingle of metal in the doorway.

They turned, and there, in the shadows of an archway, was one of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen. 

The man was exceptionally good looking, clean shaven, with well maintained dark hair and utterly shirtless. He almost soundlessly stepped forward, but bells on anklets betrayed him. He wore Rivaini styled pants that Bull vaguely recalled being known as “harem” in a rich blue fabric, as well as the belled anklets and bracelets made of gold with tiny loops on them that seemed made for leashes. He wore a collar as well, leather with runes etched into it that glowed with a dark purple light. The collar _definitely_ had a hook for a leash on it, and Krem stiffened at his side as they both realized what this was.

A collared mage of a pleasure slave had somehow been dragged from Tevinter to serve the man. Fucking shit.

“Ah, Dorian,” Delacourt said, smiling. “I wondered when you would appear.”

Dorian padded over, draping himself like a languid cat at his master’s feet and revealing the small gold hoops his nipples had been pierced with. He smiled politely, but his eyes were dead. Krem’s hand on his shoulder tightened, nails digging into his skin.

“Dorian is my mistress,” the man continued blithely, not knowing the danger he was in. “Though sadly this past little while he’s grown less fond of me.”

That got a spark in the dead eyes, a flash of rage and pain that was quickly suppressed. Bull made a decision.

“I’ll halve the cost if you give him to me,” he said, and Delacourt sputtered. 

“Excuse me?”

“Monsieur Delacourt, I may have one eye, but I’m hardly blind,” he said bluntly. “I know slaves. Half the price and him.”

Delacourt considered. He obviously needed the bandits and their families off his land, and Dorian had no doubt been fighting him tooth and nail recently if the flecks of blood on those gold bracelets and how he had a bandage on his hand were anything to go by. Bull could see the smooth places of healed skin where welts had been on Dorian's shoulders. 

“Done,” he said at last, and Dorian looked like he was going to be sick.

oOo

They left with Dorian and a bag of what could only loosely be termed clothes in a carriage, as well as half the payment. Krem attempted small talk in Tevene, only to get a stricken look of terror and eyes flicking from him to Bull and back again in growing agitation and panic. Dorian made not the slightest sound, lips firmly sealed even as they reached the little rented house they would be staying at for the next month while they dealt with all the jobs in the area. Krem helped him down, careful to let him balance before letting him go. The gravel of the road couldn’t have been comfortable.

Bull made no move towards him, just lead them up the stone walk to the house, and ushered them inside. 

The living room had been turned into the infirmary, and the second they walked through the door Stitches was in front of them, blazing with fury.

“The hell is this?” he demanded, looking over Dorian with horror. “What did you do?”

“Wasn’t me who made him like this,” Bull grunted, shutting the door carefully. “Delacourt’s now former pleasure slave. His name is Dorian, we spotted him while we were doing business, and I wasn’t going to just leave him there.”

Krem was shrugging out of his cloak, and hung it on the hooks by the door. “He’s Tevene. Hasn’t said a word, maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Dorian made the first sound, a panicked noise in the back of his throat when Krem tried to walk away, his eyes wide. Krem stopped, looking at him, and Dorian looked between the three of them, clearly terrified. Stitches groaned, covering his face. “Does he speak Trade at all?”

“Possible,” Krem said, walking back to them. “He’s got to know a little Orlesian, that’s for sure, and he’s got to know Tevene.”

Dorian was trembling a little, but nodded at them. 

“You understand Trade?” Stitches said, and he nodded again. His hand snuck out to very delicately pinch Krem’s sleeve, as if trying desperate to hold onto him but too afraid to do so. Whenever he so much as glanced at Bull it was with pure, unadulterated terror.

Krem didn’t try and pull away, carefully herding Dorian into the now infirmary, and Stitches ran a hand over his face before looking up at Bull.

“Do you understand what we have to deal with now?” he said quietly so Dorian couldn’t hear him. “We have an illegal slave, an illegal _apostate_ pleasure slave in our house. Skinner is going to kill you.”

Bull shrugged helplessly, watching as Krem coaxed a wide eyed Dorian to sit down. “Look,” he said softly, “the kid’s been hurt bad. You know Tevinter. Someone probably kidnapped him from his family. Face like that and a mage, he’s got to be noble. So we fix him up, send him back somehow, and burn Delacourt’s place to the ground. I don’t like that bastard.”

“If this is what he’s doing with his money, I don’t either,” Stitches muttered. He frowned as Dorian grabbed Krem’s hand when he tried to leave, his eyes wide and fearful. “Just remember that you’re Qunari, boss. Grateful or not, he’s a pleasure slave, and he probably thinks that you’re going to treat him the same as Delacourt did.”

“Shit,” Bull muttered, rubbing his head. “I’ll stay away from him much as I can. Think you can do anything about the collar?”

Stitches shook his head. “Dalish might have to do it. It’s probably magically locked on. I’ve seen a few like it before, mostly Tal-Vashoth make. We might have to call Valo-kas.”

“Shit,” Bull groaned. “I don’t wanna do that. Shokrakar is fuckin’ badass and bad tempered on the best of days, and I hate dealing with Tal-Vashoth.”

“Well, even if I get a good look at a makers mark we might have to call them in. Like it or not, Valo-kas actually has some decent mages, and the likelihood of us actually finding the maker is pretty slim.” Stitches rubbed a hand over his head, not even turning when Grim appeared from down the hall and kissed the back of his neck. “Grim, we have a new person. He’s about as talkative as you are.”

Grim patted his back and headed in, making Dorian jump. He smiled and waved before turning around and leaving, Dorian’s eyes wide.

Bull sighed. “I’m going to go write reports. Let me know what you find out about him. It looks like he was beat pretty bad before being healed up, you might want to check on that.”

Stitches nodded, and Bull headed to the kitchen to work.

oOo

Dorian was an obedient, if unnerving patient. He watched with unblinking eyes as Stitches checked him over, clinging tightly to Krem’s hand. Krem kept up a steady stream of Tevene, and as Dorian seemed to slowly realize that he wasn’t about to have clothes ripped off and be ravished, he began to relax. By the time Stitches had finished checking his legs and back for any damage, he had managed a small smile at Krem, and bobbed his head in a nod or shook it to simple questions. He stiffened when Stitches began to examine the collar, but a few soothing words from Krem had him going pliant. The collar was, unfortunately, very well crafted and definitely Qunari make of some variety. There was a makers mark, one he hadn’t come across before, but that wasn’t unexpected. It was a seamless strip of leather. He’d seen them before, rarely, but it was a simple concept. Join the two ends together with a few quick stitches, say a few words, and bam. Unremovable collar.

“Well, you seem to be pretty much functional, if a little skinny,” he declared, and Dorian watched with interest as he wrote things down. “We’ll do what we can about the collar soon, but we’re probably going to have to call in another company to see if they have any ideas.”

Dorian nodded, and to his shock, very carefully began finger spelling. Stitches knew the basics of the slave signs, but it took him a minute to put together t-h-a-n-k-y-o-u.

“Not a problem,” he said, ruffling Dorian’s hair and receiving an actual squawk of angry noise for his trouble. Grinning, he shook his head as Dorian fussed with his hair, fixing it. “Krem, go find him a shirt. I’ve got to make Grim get started on dinner and tell the chief about everything.”

“Anything in particular I should have someone go out for, for tomorrow?” he asked.

“Good, solid foods. Lots of fresh fruit. Soft, fresh breads would be good. Druffalo would be good, if you can get it.”

“Got it.” Krem stood, Dorian rocketing to his feet next to him and shifting awkwardly back and forth. “Come on, pretty sure Dalish has some extra gear that’ll fit you.”

Dorian followed him out, still clutching his hand like he was going to disappear at any moment. Stitches set his things down, and headed to the kitchen.

Rocky had showed up at some point, sitting at the table and making ‘conversation’ with Grim as he started on the soup for dinner. Bull was hunched over his papers with his monocle on, writing in Qunlat with a brisk, neat hand. Stitches dropped down into one of the free chairs at the round table, and Bull removed his monocle, putting the quill aside. “Well?”

“It’s not good,” he said bluntly. “If I didn’t want to kill Delacourt before, now I think it should be a good team bonding activity. Kid’s been used hard. Lots of old bruises that aren’t totally healed, pretty faint scars where they didn’t do a good enough job. I think he’s somewhere between 25 and 30, but I’d put him closer to 30. Lungs and heart seem fine, throat isn’t damaged though the jury’s out on his voice. The piercings are pretty new, maybe two years old at the longest. His ears have been done for a long time, and he’s got a septum that’s pretty damn old and doesn’t seem to be an issue. I’m surprised he’s not wearing anything in it. For a pleasure slave I’m sure he was treated like absolute shit. I do have a piece of good news, though. Even if he’s mute, he can finger spell. Slave sign.”

“Well damn,” Bull said, leaning back in his chair. “That makes it a little easier. Skinner can do it too, so that’ll make life a little easier.”

“Skinner can do what?” the woman in question said as she and Dalish came in through the back door.

Stitches grimaced. “Boss picked up another ugly duckling. Pleasure slave, Tevinter, seems to be mute but he knows sign.”

The two stopped, turning to look at Bull, who raised his hands innocently.

“More shems,” Skinner growled, and Krem came through the door with Dorian. He was still in the oversized pants, but the bracelets and anklets had been stripped off. His feet were in thin house shoes, better than nothing, and he’d been wrangled into one of Dalish’s long green shirts without sleeves. He blinked owlishly at the two, shrinking behind Krem. Given that he was nearly a head taller than the man, it was almost funny to watch.

“Meet Dorian,” the lieutenant said dryly. “He’s not a big fan of shirts, apparently.”

“Man after my own heart,” Bull chuckled, and Dorian’s clutch on Krem’s arm tightened. Bull made no move towards him though, and he slowly relaxed again, looking over everyone.

“May as well do the introductions,” Krem said. “The blonde is Grim, the dwarf is Rocky, the dark haired elf is Skinner and the light one is Dalish. And then there’s Stitches and The Iron Bull, and me, obviously. Got it?”

“Grim, Rocky, Skinner, Dalish, Stitches, The Iron Bull, Krem,” Dorian said out of nowhere, his voice hoarse, and his teeth clicked shut as the runes on the collar flared harshly. Everyone stared.

“Well,” Stitches said slowly, “at least we know you’re not mute now.”

Dorian tugged helplessly at the collar, blinking back a few tears and taking a few deep breaths. The runes slowly faded back to their normal dark purple, and Dorian touched his throat, smiling apologetically.

Grim set the ladle down firmly on the stove, walking over to stand in front of him. Dorian shifted, obviously nervous, and went very still when Grim reached around to cup the back of his neck, pressing their forehead’s together. Slowly, Dorian let go of Krem’s sleeve and stilled, staring into Grim’s eyes like he’d just met Andraste herself. They stood that way for a borderline uncomfortable amount of time, and when Grim finally pulled away Dorian smiled shyly, lighting up.

“He’ll fit right in,” Rocky said with a chuckle, and the kitchen became a hive of activity as the put the leaves in the table to extend it, finding chairs to seat everyone comfortably. Grim dished, doubling the portion for Dorian, and they settled in with a cacophony of noise. Dorian ate like a starving man, eyes rolling in near rapture as he polished off the soup. Stitches didn’t doubt that Delacourt had restricted his food to keep him obedient, one more thing the man needed hurting for.

Skinner hesitantly started signing to Dorian over dinner, and he brightened, signing back. The two conversed silently, faces contorting to add meaning, and by the end of it Dorian was beaming and Skinner looked slightly sick.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, the table quieting down. “He’s from Tevinter. A powerful family. He got caught by slavers and ended up here. The collar makes it difficult to speak or make noise, and hurts him if he says more than a few words. It also keeps him from writing with anything but his fingers in the dirt.”

Krem grimaced. “Well shit. Altus?” he asked Dorian, who nodded nervously. “Fasta vass. I guess you’re incaensor now.”

“Incaensor?” Bull asked, the word unfamiliar.

“Has the same meaning as saarebas,” Krem explained. “A dangerous but useful thing. A magic using slave, for example.”

Dalish frowned, looking over at Dorian. “But he can’t use it.”

“Meaning stays the same.” Krem stretched. “So, this job. It’s shit. These people are just trying to stay alive. Can we just burn Delacourt alive and fuck off to Ferelden or something?”

Bull groaned, stretching massive arms. Dorian watched him in slightly terrified fascination. “Unfortunately, no. We’re going to have to see this through. However, I wouldn’t complain if we carefully managed to fuck his life up a little bit as well.”

“Good,” Krem said firmly, and rose. Dorian looked up at him, obviously unsure of what to do, and Krem sighed. “Okay. Since piling is out of the question for him, who’s going to find a cot?”

“Oooh!” Dalish raised her hand. “I will! I can make one!”

“Fantastic. Chief, you finish that Qun business of yours and I’ll get him settled upstairs.”

oOo

The Chargers slept in a giant pile of snoring, cuddled bodies, or sometimes with the Iron Bull in the infirmary where he stretched out on the floor, simply because he could only rarely manage the careful crab walk it took him to go up the stairs without destroying the paint. Tonight, they were in the upstairs rooms, no doubt snoring like saws against trees as he struggled to convince his body that yes, in fact, it was time to sleep and no, it was not time to over analyze everything that he’d seen Dorian do that evening. As fascinating as the man was, he did need to get some rest.

He woke to the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs coming down, unfamiliar. It had to be Dorian. He sat up, picking up a book. Dorian peeked around the corner, saw him, and carefully stepped inside. He moved like a dancer, all grace and elegant motion. He stopped in front of Bull, and knelt. 

“No,” Bull said quietly, seeing the carefully blank expression and the way his eyes rested on his belt. “Not like this. You ever come to me, it’s because you _want_ to. Not because I’ve helped you.”

Dorian’s fingers twitched, and he swallowed hard, looking stricken. Bull beckoned him forward, and he obliged. He reached out with one huge hand, catching Dorian’s chin in his hand. 

“Dorian,” he said softly, and leaned in to kiss his forehead tenderly, “that’s the most you’re going to get from me until I know you _actually_ want me.” He let him go, Dorian staring up at him in confused awe. “Go back to bed. We’ll still be here in the morning.” 

Dorian sat back on his haunches, his head cocked to one side as he watched Bull. He reached up to touch his forehead, and a slow smile of delight brightened his face. He rose, bowed with his hands flat to his thighs in the Tevinter style, and backed from the room without rising. Bull shook his head, bemused, and settled back on the floor.

Life had just got a lot more interesting.


	2. Training

Krem woke up with Dorian’s face barely six inches from his own. Only years of careful training to not hit unexpected things without analyzing the situation saved the man from a fist to the face.

“Dorian,” he said with terrifying patience, “please don’t do that again.”

Dorian leaned back, apparently pleased with himself, and lifted a bag that looked suspiciously bloody. Krem grimaced, opening it. There were no less than six dead nugs inside, and Dorian, apparently having decided that his gift was enough, promptly stood up and walked back downstairs. He was shirtless again, in pale green pants of the same harem style for the day, and there were a few tiny flecks of blood on the bells of them. His feet were dark with dirt.

“The fuck,” Krem managed at last, and Dalish grimaced as she woke up and saw the dead nugs.

“Well, at least we know he can earn his keep?” she offered, and Krem closed the bag. Grim would want them. He extricated himself from Rocky and Skinner, both still asleep, and headed downstairs as well. There was a faint trail of dust where Dorian had walked, and he could see that in the little side room the bag of “clothes” they’d brought had been neatly repacked and placed by the door, as if he expected to have to run at any moment.

Bull was already up, tying off the letters to be sent when they were in town next, and Dorian was disappearing out the door in a flash of tan and green.

“So,” Krem said dryly, dropping the bag on the table. “He hunts.”

Grim gestured to the three dead quail on the counter, nodding. Krem grimaced, dropping into a chair at the table. Bull removed his monocle, sitting back and eyeing the nug bag. “Well, at least that’s something. Apparently he’s not squeamish about dead things.”

“Do you want me to see what he can do with a weapon?” Krem asked.

“After breakfast, yes. Apparently he’s decent with traps and snares, which isn’t something I was expecting but go figure. Maybe he was on the run for a while.” He opened the bag, grimacing. “Nug jerky isn’t great, but I guess we’re just going to have to manage.”

Now it was Krem’s turn to eye him. “Jerky? I thought we were staying to finish up all the little things in the area. Jerky’s travelling food.”

Bull groaned as Stitches came in with a bucket of water and the bags from the markets. He’d been who’d drawn the short straw one to go to the morning markets, sending off the letters from the night before and gathering their supplies for the day, including a rare bit of milk. “We have to go to the Valo-kas, see if they’ll help with that damn collar. We’ll deal with the bandits but then we’re going to have to get moving. We’ll come back when we can.”

Stitches poured the water into a pan for Grim, nodding. “I checked, but that maker mark on the collar isn’t one I recognize. Valo-kas at least has an arcanist who loves tearing shit apart. From what I hear, she’s a solid scientist and fuckin’ deadly with the right bombs.”

“ _More_ mages,” Bull griped, dragging a hand down his face. “Tal-Vashoth mages, even. This just gets better and better. And we know fuck all about where they are, aside from generically “west”, so we’re going to be running around half of Orlais trying to pin them down with an apostate pleasure slave.”

Dorian reemerged, soaking wet and triumphantly holding a solitary fish. He stalked over to the counter, set it by the quail, and waltzed back out the door. The room was silent.

“How the fuck did he catch that?” Krem asked, and Stitches made a strangled noise.

oOo

After wrangling Dorian back into a shirt, convincing him that yes, they did have enough meat, please _stop_ , and gathering everyone up, breakfast officially got underway. Dorian ate a bit more sedately this time, neatly picking apart the bread to dip it in honey and the tiny bowl of milk before him. He refused to take more until Stitches forced some hen on his plate, and after that he settled down to eat the remains, looking quietly happy.

“So,” Bull said when they were all finished. “Krem, you’re in charge of weapons testing for Dorian today. Stitches, you’re with the rest of us while we keep scouting. Keep an eye out for Delacourt. I doubt he’ll try to come take Dorian back, but it doesn’t hurt to be too careful.”

Dorian shivered, and Dalish threw an arm over him to hug him. 

“Speaking of, we’re doing this either tonight or tomorrow, depending on what we see today. Tomorrow’s more likely. I want the lot of you packed by the time dawn hits tomorrow just in case it all goes to shit, and then we’re off to go hunt down the damn Valo-kas.”

Dalish beamed. “Oooh, I like Shokrakar.”

Skinner just shook her head, and dragged Dalish away from the table.

oOo

“So,” Krem said when everyone had taken off, a pile of weaponry of assorted varieties on the long table that sat up against the house outside. “Altus. You’ve been taught weapons then.” A nod. Dorian was looking greedily over the weapons, his eyes lighting up with joy. Krem sighed, watching as Dorian’s fingers flitted over the handles. He remembered the feeling of finally having a way to protect himself after months of being without one. Dorian paused on a long, particularly nasty looking saber, lifting it and testing the weight. Krem stepped back, letting him run through some easy patterns. Dorian made a face, carefully setting the saber back down. He was without shoes again, though he’d reluctantly kept the shirt. He stepped back from the table, looking dissatisfied, and bent down. He carefully wrote in the dirt, the collar flaring a little as he forced the word out.

Krem leaned down. “Glaive?” He straightened up, staring. “A glaive. You want a fucking glaive?”

Dorian added the words “best at” to the dirt, looking up at him stubbornly.

Krem sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well. Grim has one. His primary weapon is a maul like mine, so I guess we’ll borrow it and see what you can do.”

Fifteen minutes later, Krem was open mouthed in shock as Dorian finished the last pattern of the practice dance, and smugly leaned on the staff. It had been a glorious display, full of carefully dodging, weaving, spinning, and general badass kicks and vaults to match with it. While highly decorative, he knew full well that against an actual opponent he would be plenty competent.

“Okay,” he said at last. “You’ve got a primary weapon for now. Let’s see you on the saber.”

oOo

By the time the afternoon was half gone, both of them were sweating and half dead of exhaustion. Dorian had been more than elated to spar after what had clearly been quite some time without, and Krem had humored him. He was just as impressive with the glaive as the practice dance had suggested, and passable with the saber. Smooth, graceful, and very well trained, Dorian was obviously proud of his abilities and had every right to it. He was fast enough to dodge the hits that Krem went for, and had been forced into a pair of house shoes while the practiced on the soft grass. The shoes were now utterly destroyed, but Dorian’s feet had been saved from becoming a bloody mess so it evened out.

“All right, stop with the smug,” Krem told him as Dorian minced around him, beaming. “Yes, yes, I can see you. You did good, I’m very impressed. For the love of Andraste’s ass, go bathe, you reek.”

Dorian pulled himself up in affront, and Krem took the glaive from him, shooing him toward the small stream that ran through the property. They had messed with it a bit, rearranging some rocks and earth to have a bathing hole big enough to accommodate the Bull, so Dorian should have no troubles. There was now a small waterfall to act as a shower as well, the product of a hard days work, and well worth the effort. He heard a faint splash and yelp, and chuckled. Heading back into the house, he grabbed his own things and a pair of Stitches boots that would probably fit, and another pair of the weird pants from Dorian’s bag. These were a warm, rich red, and he grabbed one of his own shirts in a warm white to match. Making his way back to the stream, he laid the things out on one of the large, flat rocks that surrounded it.

Dorian swam over, pulling himself half up onto one of the rocks and looking up at him with deceptive innocence. Krem snorted, sitting crosslegged on the rock. “Oh no. I’m not getting naked with you around.”

Dorian frowned, reaching over to pluck at his pants.

“ _No_ ,” Krem said firmly, scooting out of range. “I’ve got my limits. I’ve known you for a day, you can’t handle seeing all this.” 

Dorian seemed puzzled, but shrugged and slid back down into the water, stealing the soap in the process. Krem turned around, rolling his eyes. There was some generic splashing, and he jumped as a fish was tossed up next to him.

“How the _fuck_ ,” he demanded, turning around. Dorian ducked back under the water to hide his grin, lifting one hand and wiggling his fingers. “Seriously? You just grabbed it?”

Dorian nodded, and Krem shook his head in exasperation. Picking up the fish, he tossed it back in. “Leave the fish be, we’ve enough meat for now.”

The fish took a moment to recover and quickly swam off, Dorian watching it in wistful fascination. Krem turned back around, and sighed a little in relief when he heard the familiar sound of water on rocks as Dorian dragged himself out and onto another rock. He risked a glance over, only to get an eyeful of extremely well sculpted ass and thighs, as well as what appeared to be a rather harshly done tattoo on his hip. His head snapped away, the tattoo burned on his eyes.

 _Vous êtes possédés_ , it read in hard letters, some of them shaky from where Dorian had clearly struggled. _You are owned._ The language was formal, mockingly polite, as if the tattooist had been speaking to him while still considering him Alti.

His stomach churned, and he carefully kept his eyes away as Dorian finished dressing, reluctantly shoving the boots on his feet. “Head back to the house,” he said when he was sure he had his voice under control. Dorian nodded, running his hands over the comfortable linen of his shirt, and gave him one last once over that was clear in his intention. He thought he might puke.

“ _Quem vis non sum._ ” He kept his voice firm but kind. _Do not, I am not what you want._

Dorian frowned, clearly confused and unused to this sort of treatment, and Krem stood to gently push him towards the house. “Go. The others will be back soon, and I’m sure someone will want help with something.”

Dorian nodded, and reluctantly went towards the house. Krem sat down hard, watching until he could see him go in the back before running his hand over his face.

“Shit,” he breathed. “What’ve you gotten us into, chief?”

oOo

“Glaive, huh?” Bull said as Krem finished drying his hair. It was Rocky’s turn for dinner, meaning it was going to be a pie of some variety. Also potentially food poisoning, which was why Stitches was helping Dorian learn how to make pie crust instead of letting Rocky do it himself. “That’s unusual. Good, though, we don’t really have much on pole arms. Scout armor, do you think?”

“Yes.” Krem tossed the towel to Dalish, who was headed out with a pile of laundry. “Keeping it light would be good, he’s not exactly built for heavy work.”

Dorian lifted the pie pan in success, and Stitches laughed as he pulled his arms back down. “You’re not done yet!”

Krem rolled his eyes, dropping down onto a chair. “I’m thinking minimum chain. You remember the armor that Hawke person we ran into had? Fairly light, some chain, but mostly leather?”

Bull nodded, humming softly. “I can see your point. Leather hardened with vitaar might get the job done, since we can’t exactly paint him up in it.”

“Will vitaar even take to leather?”

“It might. We can try it. What about the Dalish scout armor?”

“That’d be good, if we could get our hands on a full set that isn’t attached to Dalish already.” Krem laughed as Dorian dramatically whacked Stitches on the arm for trying to change the design on the pie. “What do you think about the saber? Keep him on that, improve him on it, or start him on something similar?”

Bull stretched, settling comfortably as he thought. “We’ve got two choices there,” he said thoughtfully. “Broadsword is completely out of course. Rapier might not be bad, but we need something a little more sturdy than a rapier. Think he could train as a rogue?”

There was a crash as Dorian dropped to his knees in a full bow, the collar glowing white hot as it forced him to the floor. He was perfectly silent, his fingers a perfect diamond as he pressed his forehead to them. The kitchen fell silent as he trembled, the collar slowly fading back to a bright, angry purple on the runes. Stitches carefully knelt down, resting a hand on Dorian’s back. Dorian jerked under his hand, apparently unable to get up.

“Dorian,” Stitches said calmly, his voice soothing, “are you okay?”

The shaking increased, a few fat tears splashing to the floor.

“It’s probably a verbal command tied to the collar,” Stitches said to Bull. Dorian managed a tiny nod. “All right, it’s definitely a verbal command.”

Bull blanched, carefully getting out of his chair and slowly kneeling in front of Dorian. Stitches backed up as Bull began murmuring soft, soothing things, sliding his fingers over the collar. The glow faded almost instantly, and Dorian let out a keening cry of pain, reaching up to grab hold of a handful of Bull’s pants.

“Shh, there you go,” Bull coaxed, helping him sit up and folding him up in his arms. “No one’s angry, it’s okay. We’re not upset with you.” Dorian clung to his arm, his chest heaving, and the skin under the collar bright red from a burn. “Shhh, you’re okay. We’re going to fix that burn right up.” Stitches scrambled out of the room, trailing curses.

Dorian went still as Bull carefully lifted the collar up from where it rested on the burn, letting a little pained noise that was frankly heartbreaking. 

“There you go, that feel a little better?” Bull didn’t let him or the collar go. “No one’s mad, Dorian, you’ve been so good for us.”

Dorian’s eyes welled up in tears again, and he buried his face against Bull’s bicep, little hiccupping sobs coming out. Stitches came back in with the burn cream, and silently handed it to Krem. He knelt down by Bull, showing Dorian what it was, and when he got a nod of acknowledgement carefully began working it onto the burned skin. It was difficult to keep the bile down, the uncomfortable heat against his fingers enough to make him want to run outside and lose whatever remained in his stomach. He wondered if this was like seeing a branding done, if this what the Tranquil felt before it was all burned away, disappearing into nothing. He watched the cream sink in, the skin losing the heat and red beneath it, and put on an extra three layers for good measure. Dorian was quiet throughout, still clutching Bull’s arm and pressed firmly into his chest.

When he was done he sat back, and Bull gently stroked through the now sweat soaked hair. “There you go,” he said softly, like he would to a scared, wounded animal. “See? Everything’s okay. Stitches is good at what he does.”

Dorian was breathing mostly normally again, but his eyes fluttered with the need to sleep. Such intense healing took it out of a man, and his head lolled against Bull. 

“Should we put him in the infirmary?” Krem asked Stitches, who nodded. Bull carefully stood with some help, Dorian dropping into the dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted, and Bull carried him to the infirmary cot to rest.

The others were watching from the stairs, Skinner clearly unnerved and scared, and Krem gently squeezed her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he promised. “He’s not permanently hurt, he’s already healed.”

“Shem or not, I don’t like that,” Skinner said softly. “I don’t want him to get hurt because of us.”

“I know,” Krem said as Bull carefully pushed Dorian’s hair away from his face. “I know.”

oOo

Dorian slept like the dead, not so much as twitching as Stitches and Bull sat on the rather decrepit chairs in the infirmary.

“You’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear,” Bull said quietly, the others already upstairs preparing for bed.

“That’s right.” Stitches ran a hand over his head, grimacing. “Look. You bought him, basically. He’s yours by right. The collar’s probably spelled to force him to obey whoever the owner is, and I’m going to take it that the collar’s decided that it’s you. And that the word rain with a t in front of it means that he’s supposed to submit to you and do what you want. Hence why it cooled down so quick when you touched it. Until we get the damn thing off him, you’re going to have to watch your words.”

Bull sighed, watching as Dorian breathed slow and deep. “Well, shit.”

“That does sort of sum up the situation.”

Bull rubbed his forehead. “I’ll be careful, then. In the meantime, keep that cream on hand. I’m sure I’m going to fuck up at some point.”

“You got it, chief.”

oOo

Bull was abruptly woken up to the feeling of someone curling up next to him. He took a moment to consider where he was, the likelihood of an assassin trying to shank him by cuddling, where he was sleeping, and came to the conclusion that Dorian had finally woken up. Sure enough when he looked down, a mop of dark hair had taken up residence by his side. Sighing, he draped an arm over Dorian’s waist. “Want me to get you a pillow?” he mumbled, and felt a nod. He reached up, plucking one from the rather beaten up chair, and handed it over.

Dorian settled in.

Silence, then-

“Is this going to be a regular thing?”

Dorian let out a little sigh of frustration, grabbing his hand and slowly spelling with his finger on Bull’s palm. S-A-F-E. N-O. H-U-R-T.

Well, shit. There wasn’t much he could say to that, except to grab the blanket from the cot and pull it over the two of them.

“You start snoring and I’m sending you upstairs to sleep with the Chargers,” he warned sleepily, yawning as Dorian cuddled up against him. “I mean it, Dorian.”

A soft snort, and then the two of them were back asleep, the familiar noises of the night surrounding them in a far more gentle blanket than the soft wool they had around them.


	3. Travel

The bandits were handled with minimal blood lost on both sides, and as Bull stomped back into the house he grinned down at Dorian, who sat on the stairs before him.

“Hey,” he said fondly, and Dorian smiled up at him, the picture of charming. “You ready to go?”

Dorian pointed to the pile of bags and weapons in the infirmary, neat and ready to move. He then pointed to the kitchen, where a basket of eggs had been carefully set. Bull stared.

“Where’d you get the eggs? Climb a tree and steal them?” Dorian grinned at him, dramatically running his hand through his hair and tossing it as if to say, ‘I know, I am that good!’ Bull shook his head, impressed despite himself. “Okay then. Guess we’ll be having eggs for lunch.” He went to grab his pack, and Dorian followed suit with the solitary bag of his clothing. They would definitely have to get him something that actually qualified as clothes in the next town, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Dorian could be quite the vain little peacock when he wanted to be.

Everyone shambled in, and Dorian leapt up to fuss over Dalish when he saw the cut over her eye. She smiled as he let out wordless little noises of agitation, patting his shoulder. “No, don’t worry, I’m just fine. I got a little too close to a spear.”

Dorian whined low in his throat, and she hugged him gently before going to collect her things.

They were out the door in minutes, Dorian in Stitches pair of dress boots and one of Krem’s shirts, and they began making their way down the road. Thankfully, Val Royeaux would only be a two day trip, and from there they would leave the high way and be out towards the great expanse of the west. Dorian would likely tire more than they would, but for now he could hold his own. Bull watched him as he walked, the glaive sheathed and comfortable on his back. He supposed that being a mage, Dorian was used to carrying long staves. He was something of an enigma, but he was grateful that the Chargers had simply accepted him and enveloped him into their fold. Dorian beamed as a butterfly fluttered across their path, watching it with wide, happy eyes, and something in him twisted.

No chance in hell he was letting the man go. He remembered how dead those eyes were.

When they broke for lunch around noon, he wasn’t terribly surprised when Dorian ended up next to him on his left. They made sandwiches with the eggs, as well as a standard stew, and they were packing up to leave when Dorian went still beside him. Bull’s ears pricked up. In the distance he could hear riders, the laughing and jingling of tack on horses. Dorian grabbed his arm, his nails digging in.

“Off the road,” Bull ordered quietly, and in seconds it was as if they had never been there, carefully hidden among the trees. Dorian was pressed up against Bull behind a giant oak, shaking like a leaf. Bull watched carefully, and grimaced when he saw Delacourt and his retinue. They were dressed as if for a hunting party, and thankfully didn’t look towards the stand of trees where the Chargers silently waited. Skinner already had her knives out, ready and waiting to attack. The sounds of the riders slowly faded away, and Dorian pressed his face to Bull’s chest, whining softly.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “They’re gone, and now we know to avoid them.”

They regrouped by Stitches, who was clearly just shy of hunting the man down and killing him.

“Think we should stay on the road or go for deep woods?” Krem asked, his eyes dark. 

“Deep woods,” Rocky and Dalish said together. Skinner wrinkled her nose but didn’t disagree. 

Bull nodded slowly. “Looks like he’s going to be up and down this stretch of road all day. Problem is, Dorian’s only got the damn dress boots on. Any ideas?”

“Don’t get caught in a bog?” Krem said wryly. “We’ll just have to manage. He’s armed, we’re dangerous, we’ll make it work. Look, Val Chevin is the next best thing we have, and that’s in the opposite direction. So we either go up to Val Chevin and outfit him, or fight through the forest until we’re out of Delacourt’s lands and can get back on the road. And then one day we come back and burn his house to the ground.”

“Works for me,” Stitches said reluctantly, and the rest nodded. Dorian stayed close to the group, the delight from the butterfly long gone as they slipped deeper into the forest.

oOo

Thankfully the forest wasn’t very swampy, though they did skirt a few small pools. The going was fairly easy, and eventually the group relaxed again.

“Shall I tell a story?” Dalish asked as they followed a halla trail down a hill.

Rocky grunted. “Tell one of the ones about the Wolf.”

“Oooh, The Dread Wolf. He’s not a good story, but since you asked.” Dalish cleared her throat, and carefully kept a branch from hitting Stitches. “Once, long ago, when the Creators walked Thedas and knew us, Falon’Din was invited to a party held by one of the Forgotten Ones. The name is now lost, but the invitation was clear- There is a party held in my honor, and I wish you to attend, Falon’Din. It would have been the height of rudeness to refuse as they were at war and it was a dangerous time, and Falon’Din hardly dared to go alone. One by one he asked the others, and one by one they said no. At last he came to the Dread Wolf, who was sunning himself on a rock. “Please, Fen’Harel,” he said in desperation. “All the others will not go, and I must attend.” Now, this was far before Falon’din angered the others with his demands for followers, so they had no reason to hate him then. Fen’Harel stretched out his long legs, and smile with his very sharp smile. “Falon’Din,” he said fondly, “you honor me with your request. I have nothing else to do that day, I shall attend this party with you.”

Bull had to admit, he was fascinated. He’d never heard this particular story before.

“Falon’Din was so grateful he kissed Fen’Harel on both cheeks and thanked him profusely. And Fen’Harel laughed and laughed, and told him not to worry so much, for the Forgotten Ones considered him to be family as well. The appointed day came, and together they traveled in all their finery to the house of the Forgotten One, and were seated with great pomp and circumstance. Fen’Harel was entranced by the finery of the Forgotten Ones home, and flattered them greatly. Then came their host, and to Falon’Din’s shock, the host kissed him full on the mouth and thanked him deeply for accepting his proposal to help end the feud. It was then that Fen’Harel realized that this was, in fact, to be a meal celebrating their engagement, and Falon’Din had no idea.”

Dorian choked on laughter, delighted.

“Fen'Harel leapt to his feet at the look of terror in Falon’Din’s eyes. “But my lord,” he protested, knowing that the Forgotten One believed Falon’Din to be perfect, “you have not completed _our_ customs to prove yourself worthy of our lovely Falon’Din!” And the Old God was startled, but agreed. He had fallen madly in love from reputation alone, you see, and Falon’Din was terrified. After all, he did not care for romance, Dirthamen being his closest companion and more fulfilling than any lover. So Fen’Harel sat, and they ate, and together they travelled home afterwards. Falon’Din begged for his help, and Fen’Harel agreed. After all, this was far too amusing. So they sat and devised a grand plan to trap the Forgotten One and force the engagement to end.”

Skinner nodded approvingly, and Stitches nearly tripped over a vine, caught just in time by Grim grabbing his shirt.

“They returned to the home of the Forgotten One and Fen’Harel told him solemnly that first, he must weave a robe of starlight. Second, he must make a creature with no hair and fat eyes, that could be ridden into battle but still held close and loved. Third, he must do the most terrifying of all- gain approval from Dirthamen, Mythal, and Elgar’nan. The Forgotten One was daunted, but did not give up as they had expected. Instead, he insisted that he would earn Falon’Din’s hand in the time allotted, a week. First, he made a dress made of tiny mirrors, and brought Falon’Din to wear it under the stars. They were forced to admit that this was correct. But then he did the impossible- he made a new beast, hairless and pink, but made two of its kind, one small and one massive. These were the first nugs. It was then the sixth day, and Falon’Din was growing a bit nervous. Fen’Harel was very amused, and then he very suddenly wasn’t. For the Forgotten One went to Dirthamen and asked for his approval on the nug as an offering of peace, which Dirthamen immediately adored. He went to Mythal and asked for her approval to find someone to love, and she agreed that it was a fine thing, for love to be had by all. And then he went to Elgar’nan, and asked if it would be acceptable to take vengeance on the All-Father's enemies, and Elgar’nan agreed, offering to help should he want it. And thus the Forgotten One found approval from all three, skirting the wording.”

Bull laughed, impressed despite himself, and Dalish grinned. “Shit, that’s impressive.”

“So now Falon’Din was trapped, and came to Fen’Harel with tears in his eyes. “I am sorry,” he said, “that you will see me no more. I am to be taken far away, I would imagine. Please tell my family I love them, and that I am sorry.” And Fen’Harel felt pity for him, for Falon’Din was truly upset and very scared, and said, “Do not worry, brother, I will fix this yet.” And they went to the Forgotten One’s house, and Falon’Din dressed in the robe of starlight and took Crystal Grace in his hands and was veiled, for that was how the Forgotten One wished him, and Fen’Harel escorted him through the palace to where the Forgotten One waited. He was confused when he saw Falon’Din, and when he drew back the veil recoiled in surprise as Falon'Din was silently weeping. “What is this?” he asked, and Fen’Harel smiled wickedly. “Do you not see, Forgotten One?” he teased. “You have done all I asked, and now you have his hand. For Falon’Din, after all, is here despite it all.”

And the Forgotten One looked to Falon’Din in surprise, who said with deep sadness, “You asked for Falon’Din’s hand, and so you have it.” And the Forgotten One was greatly dismayed, for he had been blinded by desire and had not seen how sad Falon’Din was. But he rallied, and seeing how upset Falon’Din truly was, kissed his hand and let him go, and Fen’Harel took Falon’Din’s arm and they fled the city before he could change his mind. And that, my friends, is the story of the Wedding of Falon’Din.”

“We have the same story,” Grim said out of nowhere, and everyone stopped to stare as he blithely continued. “With different players.”

And that was all he said, but that was the topic of conversation until at last they reached the edge of the forest at the end of the day and made camp. Dinner was quick and filling, the day finally catching up to them all, and tents were pitched with a speed that was rare.

Bull was comfortably settled in his tent and shouldn’t have been surprised when Dorian slipped inside, looking at him nervously. He sighed, patting the ground next to him, and Dorian dropped down, curling up beside him. He moved over, allowing Dorian space on his bedroll, and only rolled his eye a little when Dorian’s head settled on his shoulder. 

“I do have pillows, you know.”

His hand was grabbed again, and he waited patiently as Dorian wrote out G-O-O-D. P-I-L-L-O-W. on his hand. 

“Well, if you insist.” He closed his eyes, and let himself fall asleep.

_oOo_

There was someone in his bed. A small someone, definitely human. His nose twitched, scenting the air. No smell of fire or ash on him, just that familiar, acrid tang of _saaarebas_ and all it implied. He was on the human in an instant, one huge hand around a thin thro- Collar. Collared _saarebas_ , looking up at him with wide, but unafraid eyes.

“ _Ashkost kata, bas saarebas_ ,“ he hissed, and the little _bas_ blinked at him. 

“Bull?” The voice was hoarse from lack of use, but completely unafraid. He pulled back like he’d been burned, realizing what he’d done.

“Shit,” he breathed, scrambling off of Dorian. “Fuck, are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

Dorian shook his head, touching his throat. He grabbed Bull’s hand, spelling, H-A-D. W-O-R-S-E. B-A-D. D-R-E-A-M? 

“Memory,” he said bluntly, sitting back. Dorian’s throat had bruised where he grabbed him, but he didn’t seem concerned. “Shit, shit, shit.” He dug through his things for the cream, and Dorian stayed disturbingly, obediently still as he carefully worked it onto his neck. “I’m so sorry, Dorian. Maybe you shouldn’t sleep in here after all, if I’m going to half kill you every time I wake up.”

Dorian shrugged, apparently unconcerned by the fact that a giant Qunari could have crushed his windpipe, and startled him with a kiss to the inside of his wrist. He reached up, gently patting Bull’s face before disappearing out of the tent flap. Bull sat there like he’d been punched in the face rather than very tenderly reassured, and had honestly no idea what to do with himself. He was still sitting completely still when Stitches stuck his head in, glaring.

“The fuck did you do to Dorian’s throat?” he said without preamble.

oOo

The problem with travelling with two very definitely, very obviously Tevinter bred men was that they got Looks. Twice, carriages stopped to examine them as they walked down the road, and more than a few passerby on horseback spent a little longer than necessary eyeing the pretty men walking with a hulk of a Qunari. Krem was obviously used to the treatment, smiling back at them and winking flirtatiously, but Dorian stuck close to Bull and kept his head down. They wound one of Dalish’s scarves around his neck to hide the collar, but there was only so much to do to make it invisible. As they approached Val Royeaux, Dorian grew more and more quiet and drew closer, until finally he was under Bull’s arm and walking in time with him. They went through the gates without issue, but Dorian refused to move from his side.

“All right,” Bull said when they reached the first plaza. “Stitches, grab the hotel room. Only one this time, I want us all there and prepared, get something big. Grim, you’re with him. Dalish, Skinner, Krem, I want you three to go to the Merchants Guild and remind them, _gently_ about my credit with them. Rocky, you’re with me and Dorian. We need to get him outfitted.”

“On it,” the group chorused, and split. Bull made his way through the crowd to the merchants tables, and Dorian’s eyes widened. 

“Okay, now, you can’t have _everything_ , but find some travelling clothes,” Bull told him. “Rocky, can you get him a bedroll and pack?”

“On it.” Rocky disappeared, and Dorian bit his lip as they began examining the wide variety of clothes scattered across the tables. He let out a little gasp when he saw an extremely odd coat, looking up at Bull with pleading. He raised an eyebrow, looking down at the white fabric. It was clear it had been through better days, stains on the hem and the collar strangely tall and covered with a ridiculous amount of buckles. 

“That?” he said dubiously, and Dorian nodded frantically. “Okay then.” He called the merchant over, and within minutes the coat was his. Dorian was practically giddy with joy, hugging it to his chest and quickly handing off the glaive to pull it on. It fit him like a glove, Dorian’s fingers flicking over the buckles with easy familiarity, and Bull slowly realized that it was Tevinter make.

“Dorian,” he said slowly as Dorian smoothed the coat down. It fit him like a glove, only slightly loose where he was thinnest. “Was this yours? Before?”

Dorian nodded, adjusting the collar of the coat and beaming up at him. For a moment it was easier to see Dorian as he would have been when he was taken- a bright, arrogant little magister’s son, too clever by a half and knowing full well he was the most beautiful thing in the room.

“Well, I guess that’s a coat dealt with,” Bull said helplessly, and let himself be dragged forward.

Dorian, he quickly learned, was a fashionable disaster that he could steer towards the merchants. He had fine taste and excellent business sense, could silently haggle the merchants down, and by the time they left he was completely outfitted with some extremely impressive, simple but elegant clothes. He had indulged in a pair of extremely soft leather pants that Dorian had hugged him for, and more pairs of the giant pantaloons he so favored. Boots came next, and he was pleasantly surprised when Dorian picked knee height leather caligae for his battle gear, and some seriously nasty looking boots for regular walking with plating for the knees. By the time they reached the weaponry, Dorian was arguably the most fashionable among them and had wrangled him into buying a very elegant septum piece with matching earrings. 

The glaive he picked out was shockingly plain in comparison, but very businesslike. It was in the Tevinter style, a fat blade that only curved a bit at the end, and Dorian tested it against more than a few of the others before nodding and settling on it. Of course, he then picked out several long, thin strips of white linen to decorate the handle. 

By the time they reached the hotel, Bull’s purse was considerably lighter and Dorian was considerably more smug. The Chargers whistled when they saw him and he preened, spinning in a circle to show off.

“Coat was his originally, when he left Tevinter,” Bull offered as he took a seat in the lobby with them. “He’s also quite the little peacock.”

Dorian flashed him a bright grin, and perched on the arm of his chair just _radiating_ smug satisfaction.

Krem shook his head, grinning. “Alti,” he said. “They never change.”

oOo

The following morning, Bull was more than a little surprise when Dorian came back into the huge room they were all crashed out in, apparently having slipped out some time before dawn. He was dressed in only the pantaloons and the bells, the scarf bright red around his neck, and he set a bag of coins next to Bull as he sat up. His stomach plummeted.

“Dorian,” he said quietly, “how did you get this?”

Dorian pointed to his feet, dirty from being out in the street, and moved like he was going to clap. Bull watched as he carefully finger spelled d-a-n-c-e-i-n-s-t-r-e-e-t.

“No sex?” he asked softly, and Dorian shook his head, somber. “Good. Promise me you won’t do this without letting me know again. If you’d been kidnapped I don’t know what we would have done.”

Dorian blanched, the idea clearly not occurring to him, and he nodded somberly.

“Good,” Bull said, yawning and settling back down on the floor. “Come back to bed. It’s too early for this yet.”

Dorian smiled, moving the coins and curling up next to him, flinging one arm over his stomach. He was asleep in minutes while Bull stare at the ceiling, uneasiness rolling in his belly.

Dorian had the potential to be very dangerous, if he could slip out without any of them knowing. He tightened his grip around Dorian’s waist, and let himself be pulled into uncomfortable sleep once again.


	4. We Are Not Things

The nice thing about being in Val Royeaux was the fact that they had plenty of patrons with Western lands who wanted very badly to hire them. The bad thing about being in Val Royeaux was sorting through which of them could actually pay, and that meant interviews in the salon that the Hotel graciously offered them free of charge. The Bull’s Chargers were well known, and they brought plenty of business wherever they went. So Bull settled in with the crew for what was doomed to be a very long day. Dorian and Krem both insisited on coming along, and Grim seemed interested enough, but the rest took off to train or nap.

It took all of two people and their retinue to realize that he now had the best bait known to man clinging to his arm.

Dorian was a bad, bad man.

Dorian was beautiful, alluring, graceful bait with his courtesan manners and delicate tinkling anklets and sweet smiles, and Bull was thrilled. Dorian understood the game instantly, and served tea for them with more than necessary sashaying before settling himself on Bull’s lap like a particularly attractive and attentive lap cat. One languid stretch, the faintest hint of tan skin under soft white linen, and the nobles were stuttering, their minds wandering to the man now draped casually across the chair with pretty, kohl lined eyes watching them like a particularly curious mountain lion while Bull talked them easily into a higher rate.

“You are _evil_ ,” Krem said fervently as a man backed from the room, holding his hat in front of him rather obviously. “Andraste’s sweet ass. I think you just doubled that commission.”

“Hell yeah he did,” Bull said, and Dorian grinned up at him, smug. “You okay though?”

Dorian nodded, reaching up to pat his cheek. 

“If you get uncomfortable at all, you just tap me three times and I’ll get you out, all right?” he said seriously, and Dorian nodded, brightening up. “There we go. I like seeing you smile.”

Dorian hummed softly, swinging himself off Bull’s lap and fussing with the tea service. He had just finished rearranging it when he stopped, straightening up so fast Bull thought he might break something. He spun, eyes wide.

“Aclassi,” he said, his voice cracking and tone horrified. Krem raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“No,” Dorian insisted, plucking at his shirt. “ _Aclassi_.” The collar flared under his scarf and he clutched it, breathing through whatever punishment it was dealing out.

Krem’s face fell, and he nodded. “Yeah. My father was a tailor. Did you know him?”

Dorian nodded, tapping his collar. “House. Safe.” The collar flared brighter and he bit back noise, slinking back to Bull’s side with a miserable expression on. Bull rubbed his back as Krem struggled to keep his face from showing his emotions.

“A house slave, huh? I lost contact.” He ran a hand through his hair, smiling faintly at Dorian. “Thanks for telling me. I’m not mad.”

Dorian bobbed his head, eyes flicking over Krem like he wanted to hug him but didn’t dare, and Krem quietly excused himself. Bull sighed, gently pulling Dorian down so he could check for more burns. Thankfully there weren’t any, just lightly aggravated skin that was already healing. Stitches sighed, and went after Krem. 

“Sorry,” Dorian whispered, and Bull winced as the collar gave a warning pulse of heat.

“Nah, you’re okay,” he said. “Krem’s got some family shit he has to deal with. He’s going to be just fine, and _you_ need to save the talking. I don’t want to have to keep carrying burn cream everywhere. We’ve got a bit of a break before the next ones come in- you sure you want to keep playing bait?”

Dorian smiled at that, grabbing his hand to spell out, F-U-N. 

“Ooh, mean. All right, let’s get this arranged.”

oOo

The Chargers all cheered when one of their favorite maids from the last time they’d stayed in Val Royeaux brought up lunch, teasing and chatting with her until she’d been introduced to Dorian and talked into staying to eat with them. She was a pretty redhead, and very, very much a lesbian. They sent a runner to let the desk know they’d kidnapped her, introduced her to Dorian, and sat back to relax. Dorian was fascinated by her, shyly getting Skinner to ask her questions about her beautiful, and very legal wife.

She did press a paper into Bull’s hand as she talked, and he carefully unfolded it to read.

_Tell the dancer that the boy used his money for lunch, and that if he plans on dancing like that in public again he’s going to get snatched. We will not forget his kindness. Friends of Red Jenny_

He folded the paper back up, watching as Dorian excitedly signed at Skinner, who translated with an eye roll. So, he’d given some of the coin from his morning’s work to the beggar children. That was both a surprise and not at all. Dorian had probably seen plenty of hardship the past few years of his life, so some kindness towards others in pain was to be expected. 

By the time the maid finally begged off to get back to work, Dorian was grinning from ear to ear, signing rapidly to Skinner, who just shook her head and ‘listened’ as he walked around, occasionally laughing to himself.

“What’s got him so worked up?” Krem asked after his third round of the room.

“He just keeps saying, a husband, I could be married, I could have a husband, over and over again,” Skinner said, shaking her head as Dorian laughed again, grabbing Grim and twirling him. “Shems.”

oOo

Morning came, and with it the knowledge that Dorian was first of all a blanket hog, and secondly a heat sink. Bull woke up with him curled up on his chest like a cat, the blanket wrapped around him. Sighing, he just laid back. They’d thankfully been given the room with the two largest beds, and so he’d taken one with Krem and Dorian, the rest of the Chargers in the other in a pile. Krem was snoring, draped half off the bed and his hair a mess, but Dorian was silent as the grave and apparently dead asleep. He reached up, softly stroking his hair, and Dorian shifted a little, huffing.

Dorian had shaved the night before, spending a full hour meticulously grooming himself into order again. The hair had been trimmed and styled half to death, but it was the facial hair that was really impressive. He sat in the bathroom with the mirror and worked so slowly it was practically performance art. He’d left neat, thin lines of hair to define his jaw, tapering off about halfway along with another to accent his cheekbones, as well as a the beginnings of a moustache. Bull was quite impressed. He generally had to use shears to convince what little hair he had to cooperate. Dorian undertook grooming like it was an art form that he would die perfecting, and it was frankly fascinating.

The man in question shifted, nuzzling sleepily into his chest. Bull hummed softly and he relaxed, letting out a soft, birdlike croon in response before slipping back into sleep. 

What the hell was he going to put in his next report?

_Dear friends at home, those of you who don’t think I should be killed or given qamek, I seem to have picked up a former pleasure slave, a mage from Tevinter, who now apparently belongs to me and likes to sleep on my chest. He steals blankets, dances, is very good at killing small animals and scaring my crew with them, and is way too relaxed about nearly being killed the other day when I had nightmares about Seheron. Asit tal-eb, I guess. Kisses, Hissrad._

Ah, yes. That should go over nicely.

Dorian sneezed in his sleep, and Bull had to bite back a laugh.

oOo

They left Val Royeaux much richer, with a rough guess as to where the Valo-kas were, and with six contracts. All in all, a fairly good trip by anyone’s standards, and as they headed out into the Western Approach they fell into a comfortable rhythm. They woke at dawn, broke camp by early morning, and were on the road till everyone declared that they couldn’t go another step without food or Dorian tired, whichever came first. Lunch was something solid but not too heavy, and they were off again until early evening, when they disappeared from the road and put together camp in the woods. Where normally Bull’s tent would be a laid back revolving door for stress relief, that ground to a halt with Dorian firmly at his side. No one was quite certain how to tell him, so Bull contented himself with mantras and the knowledge that eventually, Dorian would realize that he was not, in fact, thrilled with the idea of no sex for the remainder of this trip and vacate to another tent at least once.

Dorian trained relentlessly, ate voraciously, and took it upon himself to hunt with the rest. Bull watched him stalk and kill a nug in all of about three minutes, killing it so quickly it likely wouldn’t have even felt the pain. He was an extremely adept hunter, taking down birds, fish, and small animals with liquid skill. 

But the further they got from the city, the quieter Dorian seemed to become, and it only took a little bit of work to figure out.

Dorian was being rejected.

He waited until he’d gone out with Rocky on a short hunting trip before approaching Stitches, who seemed strangely intent on organizing his supplies while they rested.

“Stitches, walk with me,” he said mildly, and for once the man didn’t argue. They went to the edge of camp, beyond the earshot of Krem who was sharpening his knives.

Stitches hesitated for a moment before sighing, running a hand over his face. “Okay. Look. I told him no. He- he tried for me.”

“I thought he might,” Bull said quietly. “He tried for me too. I haven’t talked to Krem about it yet. Dalish and Skinner won’t have to worry, but Rocky and Grim…”

“He’s talked to Grim. Well. I say talked. But they’ve discussed, however the hell they discuss things.” Stitches sat on a stump, Bull taking the one next to it. “Look, you’ve got to do something about him. He’s scared half out of his mind, even if he hides it well. Years of slave training don’t just disappear overnight. He expects to be used, and we’re confusing him with this whole ‘consent’ business. I don’t know if he even understands what consent _is_.”

“How do you think he was brought into this?” he asked, mostly to get away from that terrifying thought. He had a few theories, but it was always good to hear others.

Stitches considered. “Well, we know how shit Tevinter is about sex. If I had to guess, he was running away from his family and got caught. Face like his, he’s too expensive to brand even if he did get away once or twice. That would explain the collar, and why he knows how to hunt so well. You get pretty good at staying alive when all there is out there is nug, nug, and more nug unless you can kill birds or catch fish. Other choice, his family is shit and sold him into it to get him out of the picture.”

Bull grimaced. “Yeah. I’ve thought about that.” He sighed. “I guess I get to give him that talk tonight.”

“The, please don’t try and jump your teammates when they just want you to be happy and not fucked in the head, talk? Let me know how long it takes him to decide that he’s going to make another go at you,” Stitches said wryly, and Bull pushed him off the stump.

oOo

Dorian was a very conscientious tent mate, at least. He kept his things neatly organized, he took up very little space, he was quiet, and aside from his blanket stealing habit he was a good bed mate. He didn’t kick, snore, or bite in his sleep, something that Bull would _really_ like Krem to stop doing, thanks.

He watched as Dorian prepared to sleep, stripping down and neatly folding and packing everything except his coat, boots, and glaive. The lot of it went in the corner, away from where it could be rolled on but close enough he could be in it and gone as soon as necessary. Dorian turned, cocking an eyebrow when he saw Bull’s harness was still on. He tapped his shoulder, tilting his head quizzically. Bull was abruptly reminded of a curious cockatoo, and couldn’t help but smile at the image that presented. Dorian did preen just like a bird, though perhaps he was more like the little budgies that his tama had kept to teach them the value of gentle hands. 

“Come here,” he said, and Dorian came to sit cross legged next to him. He hid his nerves well, but Bull could see the anxiety. He held out his hand, waiting for Dorian to slowly take it, his eyes trained uncertainly on Bull.

“Do you trust me?” he asked. Dorian nodded, concern now his main expression. “I mean it, Dorian. Do you trust me, or do you obey me?”

Dorian’s other hand came up to touch the now exposed collar, and he frowned, opening Bull’s hand to spell. C-O-N-T-R-O-L-S. B-O-D-Y. N-O-T. M-I-N-D.

Well. That got an unexpected lump to grow in his throat. Bull squeezed his hand, taking a deep breath. “Dorian,” he said gently, “you don’t owe us your body. You will _never_ owe us your body. I don’t care what this damn collar does, you are not property. You are not a _thing_.”

Dorian stared at their joined hands, and Bull wasn’t surprised when a tear trickled down his cheek. “We are not things,” he whispered, the collar flaring harsh against his skin. 

“That’s right,” Bull said softly, and Dorian pressed a hand to his mouth as fat tears started in earnest.

“I just want to repay you,” Dorian said, his voice breaking with lack of use, and Bull carefully reached out to take the lift the collar just in time to take the brunt of the heat it caused. He had to grit his teeth against the pain, realizing that Dorian’s neck must have very little sensation on the band of skin where the collar sat from all the damage he constantly took. Dorian grabbed his wrist, and he let it go. 

“You don’t need to repay us. Hell, you’re feeding us enough that we’re going to start getting fat and lazy if you don’t stop.” His fingers throbbed with pain.

Dorian laughed wetly, opening his eyes and taking Bull’s hand to spell again. I. W-A-N-T. N-O-T. J-O-K-E. K-N-O-W. W-H-O. I. A-M.

“Dorian,” Bull said, pained. “I’ve worked a long time to be a good man and stay a good man. I don’t care if you share my bed, you’re a pretty decent tent mate except for when you take all the blankets, but I won’t sleep with you. Not like this. Not until the compulsion on that collar is gone. I _can’t_ do that, knowing that you might be there because you felt you had to be, or because you were forced. I am not a rapist, and I’m damn well going to keep it that way.”

Dorian lifted his hand again, pressing a kiss to his palm as his tears came faster. Sitting back, he lifted the collar, holding it tightly as he looked Bull in the eyes. 

“You are a good man, The Iron Bull,” he said, and closed his eyes as Bull grabbed the collar, his own eye a little wet as they bore the pain together.

oOo

Rocky chose to walk by him the next day, Dorian and Skinner far ahead as he learned more complex signs to be able to speak to her easier. Skinner was insisting that there wasn’t a sign for butterfly, to Dorian’s increasing agitation.

“So,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I heard you and Dorian had a talk last night.”

“Yep.”

“Do I need to be concerned about turning down a very scared and slightly desperate pleasure slave anymore?”

“Hopefully not.”

“Good,” Rocky said, nodding approvingly. “Because I would really rather not do that again. It wasn’t fun.”

“I’ll bet.” 

They lapsed into silence, only to perk up when Krem came jogging back down the road. 

“Well?” Bull called as he reached them, sweating and a little out of breath.

“Good new and bad news,” Krem called back to him. “It’s the same. I found Company Valo-Kas.”

They rounded the top of a hill just in time to see a wave of Qunari mercenaries crash into a pile of bandits keen on robbing what looked like a merchant cart. Bull sighed, gathering himself up. “Pox rotted Tal-Vashoth,” he said with longsuffering, and a roar boomed across the little valley. On the other side was a Vashoth woman without a shirt, covered in black and red vitaar and carrying a massive, tooth shaped maul. Shokrakar had spotted them, and invited them to the party.

“Well?” Krem said to Dorian, who was strapping on his caligae already. “Ready to get your feet wet?”

Dorian spun his glaive with ease, sniffed, and nodded.

“Well then,” Bull said, cracking his knuckles. “Chargers! Let’s have some fun!”

oOo

It wasn’t much of a fight, all told, but Dorian did get his feet wet. Bull found him cleaning off the blade of his glaive, a bandit dead with his head a good six feet away and a woman holding onto her husband like her life depended on it. Dorian bowed politely to the pair, who thanked him profusely, and jogged back over to Bull.

“Nice work,” he said approvingly, and Dorian brightened a little. Skinner translated as she walked up.

“He says she was being carried away, so he killed the man. She is to have a child, soon.”

Bull took a closer look, and indeed, the woman was just starting to show. “Well damn. One more reason not to let her get taken.” He flicked the blood off his blade and sheathed it, and set to fixing up the merchant’s wagon. 

The Valo-kas were dragging bodies as Grim whipped out his tools and Dalish soothed their horses, and by the time the wagon was fixed the bodies had been looted and a grave half dug. The Vashoth were clearly spooked, but Shokrakar walked over and they steadied some. She was an intimidating woman, taller than Bull and her horns huge, double curled monsters as wide as his. She dressed not dissimilar to Dorian, in caligae and comfortable brown pants. Her vitaar was an elaborate piece of true artwork and better than any armor, allowing her to go shirtless. An array of sashes held an even wider array of knives, and she halted in front of him. It had been some time since he’d had to look up to anyone, but she was truly enormous.

“Well then,” she boomed, and he took in the thick web of scars across her right cheek, the brand on her left. An escaped slave, and a qamek survivor. “What am I to be calling you?”

“The Iron Bull,” he said with an easy smile despite every ounce of his training insisting that he should either be running or killing _now_. “These are the Chargers.”

She nodded. “We received your message. You have the small slave _saarebas_?”

Dorian stepped forward, bowing deeply and not rising until she let out a huff.

“Well, it’s a good thing we didn’t send Adaar off with Iron-Ass just yet, I suppose.” She raised her voice, making the humans wince. “Adaar! Get down here!”

The tiniest full grown Vashoth Bull had ever seen came jogging down the hill, a staff on her back and tiny, stubby horns poking straight up. She had bright white curls, freckles, and a smile wide as the horizon. He couldn’t help feeling like he’d missed something along the way when this tiny, not even six foot tall Vashoth was named ‘weapon’.

“Herah Adaar,” Shokrakar said dryly. “The Arcanist, or the closest we’ll get to one.”

Herah beamed up at him, so full of hope he couldn’t help smiling back.

“You’re so _tall_ ,” she said immediately. “And your horns are so wide! I always wanted ones like yours but all I got were these.” She poked them, and Bull looked at Shokrakar, who was looking at the sky as if it would grant her patience.

“Please forgive her,” she said in the tones of someone who had already said this too many times in one day. “She is… excitable.”

A passing Vashoth, built like a brick with long, swept back horns grunted in dissent. “She is young and dumb.”

“Meraad!” Herah protested. “I’m twenty!”

Meraad shook his head as Bull and Shokrakar exchanged looks.

“Twenty, huh,” he said, and she nodded vigorously. “How long have you been in the field?”

“Um. Eiiiight months?”

Bull looked helplessly back at Shokrakar, who shrugged just as helplessly. It was shaping up to be a very, very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make way for the Immortan Shokrakar.
> 
> Also, hi! Thank you all for commenting, I've been posting this on the fly in between working on Pound the Alarm, hence the lack of notes. Dorian's facial hair is from his concept art, by the way. He's work on growing the mustache we all know and love.
> 
> Or at least know.


	5. Many Collars

The Valo-kas made camp with a military precision that Bull wanted to weep over, tents in neat rows and their fires carefully contained. They stayed away from the Chargers, who put up their two tents away from the group. Herah followed them, too curious for her own good, and despite the fear of this tiny, bizarre _saarebas_ Bull allowed her. It _was_ funny to watch her get tongue tied when Krem smiled at her and made her blush. 

“Where are you from?” she asked as she helped pound in tent stakes.

“Nowhere that you’ve been,” he said, and she pouted at him.

“Aww, come on.”

“No. Pull that tighter.”

She did as asked, and the tent stayed in place. Dorian emerged from what Bull was reluctantly starting to think of as _their_ tent, offering Bull a water skin. He took it gratefully, and Dorian flicked the flecks of blood on him with a scowl.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll clean up in a bit,” he told him, and got a rather self-satisfied nod in return. Dorian vanished back into the tent, reappearing as they finished with the fire pit. He’d changed into his loosest shirt and the dark red harem pants, and attached the anklet bells. 

“You dancing for us tonight?” Krem asked, trying and failing to not sound hopeful. Bull had to agree. Dorian was an exquisite dancer and a pleasure to watch. Dorian shook his head, kneeling down with the flint to get their fire started. It caught easily and he rose, brushing himself down and signing to Skinner. Bull was proud that he actually caught a few words.

“He says he doesn’t need an excuse to look nice. The bells will announce him so he doesn’t scare Valo-Kas,” Skinner translated, and everyone made a noise of understanding as Dorian shook his foot.

“That’s really smart,” Herah said, bending down for a closer look at the bells. Dorian obligingly moved his foot over. “Wow, these are beautiful. But you’re not Rivaini, are you?”

Dorian shook his head, and Krem chuckled. “Hell no. He’s Tevene, like me but much, much higher class. The guy we got him from seemed to have a bit of a Rivaini fetish though, with the bells and jewelry and pants and all.”

Dorian grimaced, nodding, and Herah straightened up just as a soft, silvery voice called for her from just beyond their tents. They all turned to see a tall, willowy Vashoth with enormous round eyes and broken horns watching them owlishly. Bull’s skin crawled. The Vashoth was male, definitely a rogue, and seemed oddly familiar.

“I’m sorry,” Herah said, hurrying over. “I was just curious.”

The Vashoth reached up, smoothing her curls. “Arvaarad is not pleased,” he said smoothly, and Herah’s shoulder’s drooped a little. “You must tell us where you go, Adaar. You are too valuable to simply wander off. What if you were hurt? Tell us, next time.”

“Yes, Hissrad,” she said quietly, and Bull wanted nothing more than to scream. Hissrad patted her head, gently pushing her towards the Valo-kas camp. A tall, bulky Vashoth with backswept curled horns was waiting, his arms folded as he watched her approach. Where she had been a bright, bubbling speck of joy, now she was quiet and compliant when she reached him, her head bowed.

The Vashoth stepped into the circle of light from the fire, and Dorian shrank back against Bull. He took a casual step in front of him, knowing full well that Dorian was highly attuned to sense how others felt and acted accordingly. For him to be this scared did not bode well.

“Hissrad,” he said with knife sharp politeness. The Vashoth smiled, baring his teeth.

“Hissrad,” he replied, and Bull shook his head.

“Not here. Here I’m The Iron Bull, and nothing else.” 

“Nothing but re-educated Ben-Hassrath, you mean,” Hissrad said, ignoring the knife that was suddenly in Krem’s hands. “I remember you.”

“Excuse me?” Bull said, his instincts screaming to kill this interloper before he made another move. Hissrad cocked his head, and Bull _remembered._

_“What is your name?” The painful burn of a hot knife, only for it to be healed before it could scar, a saarebas behind him to do the work._

_“Hissrad, my name is Hissrad-“_

_“No, you have no name. There are no names under the Qun.” A harsh, clawed hand dragging up under his jaw, forcing him to meet luminous silver eyes that burned into his soul. “You are not Hissrad, you are a Hissrad, one of many. You are nothing but a tool in the hands of the Qun.”_

The faint jingle of bells snapped him out of the memory, and it was only his training and the knowledge they needed Dorian out of the damn collar that kept him from leaping forward and snapping the Tal Vashoth in two.

“Any reason you didn’t just stick with Viddathiss?” he asked, his tone even. 

Hissrad smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “All I am these days is a liar and scout. The viddathiss is dead.” He bowed politely. “I can only hope the Ben-Hassrath continue to let him stay that way.”

 _You made me a thing,_ Bull wanted to scream. _You broke me, over and over and over, and I asked you do to it. How can you look at me and not want to keep doing it? The viddathiss enjoy their jobs too much, everyone fucking knows this! But you're standing right there in front of me as if you never shattered my jaw when I spoke out of turn!_

What he did say was, “I’m here for Dorian, and Dorian alone. Until you start murdering and rampaging through the countryside, you’re not the Tal-Vashoth I hate.”

Hissrad nodded, bowed again, and left without another word. Bull let out a shaky breath and Dorian was in front of him in an instant, eyes wide and terrified as he reached up, smoothing his thumbs over Bull’s cheeks and frantically looking into his eyes.

“I’m okay,” he said gently, catching Dorian’s hands. “Just rattled.”

Dorian jerked his head at the retreating back. “Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.” The collar flared, but he didn’t seem to notice, his chest heaving as he touched Bull’s neck, as if looking for an invisible collar to match his own.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, he is.”

oOo

Dorian wouldn’t stop pacing. He prowled around the perimeter of their little camp like he personally had a vendetta against the grass there, the bells on his ankles a soft, tinkling warning to keep away and his glaive openly in his hand. The first time Dalish tried to stop him and got snapped at, so they let him do as he willed. Bull watched him, seeing the wild, furious fear in his eyes, and tried to squish the warmth that was rising in his chest. Eventually, Dorian seemed to realize that no one was coming over, and slunk back through the tents to Bull’s side, glowering at the Valo-kas flames. Grim ruffled his hair as he walked past, getting a squawk of annoyance in response, but Dorian settled.

Slowly they all migrated to the tents, Krem taking first watch, and Bull then got to deal with more pacing within the confines of the tent.

“You going to sleep some time tonight?” he asked at last, and Dorian snarled, reluctantly going over to him and taking the bells off. He hesitated, then tied one to his wrist with a sharp nod. Bull tried not to feel too grateful for that. Dorian huffed in annoyance, burrowing under the blankets and into his normal place under Bull’s arm. He smiled, combing his fingers gently through his hair. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

He was promptly thumped on the chest with a sharp, “ _No_ ,” and felt the warning pulse of heat. He chuckled, gently squeezing Dorian and letting him rumble in anger. He sounded a little like a cat who’d been flicked with water.

“Thank you for worrying about me,” he said at last, and the rumbling stopped. Dorian sat up, frowning, and gently cupped his face.

“Always worry,” he said, and batted his hand away before he could grab the collar. “No. Important. Always worry.” The collar flared and he gritted his teeth, riding out the pain and laying back down to trace pointless patterns over Bull’s chest.

Bull pulled him in, kissing the top of his head. “Thanks, Dorian,” he said quietly, and they settled down to sleep.

oOo

The Valo-kas woke up later than they did, but Herah was the first of the group to be up, followed shortly by Shokrakar. Bull watched the two of them talk by their fire as the Chargers ate breakfast, frowning. Herah seemed distraught, her head bowed, and finally Shokrakar crouched down so that they were eye to eye, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. Herah nodded, brightening a little bit, and Shokrakar straightened to push her towards their camp.

“You get the feeling that something’s up with her?” Rocky said quietly. She was in plain clothes, just breeches, boots, and white shirt, and nowhere near as cheerful as she’d been the day before.

“Hissrad said something about an Avaarad,” Krem said quietly. “She’s a mage, she has a keeper, and she’s apparently too important to be trusted on her own. That doesn’t bode well.”

Dorian hummed from where he sat crosslegged at Bull’s feet, considering.

“Morning, everyone,” Herah said to a chorus of hello’s. “There’s a clearing where we can work today, but um.” She swallowed hard, looking at the ground. “Since I’m still young and haven’t been with the company a full year, Avaarad has to be with us. Is that alright?”

Dorian got up, padding over to her and taking her hands. She blinked, in surprise as he looked at her closely, letting go of one hand to push the curls away from her face. 

“Safe?” he asked gently, and she smiled. 

“Yes,” she said. “Very safe. No one’s hurt me, I promise.”

Dorian hummed, squeezing her hand before nodding. Herah straightened up a little, her smile actually getting a little happy. “I’m excited to work on this,” she admitted. “I don’t like collars.”

Dorian signed, nodding wryly. 

“He says, same,” Skinner translated, and everyone copied the movement to practice and memorize it. Dorian grinned, and Skinner shook her head. “Shems.”

Bull smiled as Dorian walked back over to sit again, nodding pointedly to Herah. “Alright, alright. Since you’re here, do you want to share our breakfast?”

Herah beamed, and Grim moved over to make a spot for her. It was plain, just some bread and honey with Dalish’s haul of morning berries, but filling. She was clearly delighted to be included, and pretty soon she was enthusiastically talking with Rocky about bombs and other such things. Dorian sat back against Bull’s legs, clearly pleased with himself, and Bull leaned down to murmur, “Okay, it was a good idea. Happy?”

Doran hummed, patting his boot, and smiled.

They finished breakfast with minimal fanfare, and Bull held in a sigh as Shokrakar came over, followed by what had to be Avaarad. He was somber as a grave, dressed in plain clothes and his horn stubs freshly polished, and Herah scrambled to her feet at the sight of him.

“You were not there when I woke,” he said without inflection and she winced. He wore a strange glove on his left hand, metal plating fitted to him all the way up to the elbow and thin bands connecting to rings on his fingers. A plate sat in the center of his palm, with a small jewel set inside it. 

“I couldn’t sleep any longer,” she said, and Dorian narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. Shokrakar grimaced.

“Chargers, this is Avaarad. His job is basically to make sure that we don’t accidentally blow up in our sleep with three mages in the company.” She motioned for Herah to sit back down, which she did after a reluctant nod from Avaarad. “He’ll be monitoring her work today, just in case something goes wrong.” She addressed Bull directly then. “I know you probably want to be with him in case something goes wrong. We’re going to spend the day training and repairing gear, would your kith be comfortable working with us?”

Bull raised an eyebrow at the others, who all nodded. “Done. Just don’t break them, please. We’ve got a shitton to do left out West, and I prefer to work up North. We’d sooner be out of your hair with a lack of broken bones.”

“Excellent point,” she said crisply. “Who’s your lieutenant?”

“That’d be me, ma’am,” Krem said, standing. She stared down at him, and he looked unblinkingly up at her. He came about to the bottom of her ribs.

“You are a very tiny human,” she observed. “Even tinier than most, and still a dread warrior.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She nodded briskly. “The kith have difficulty with human names. May we call you Issqun?”

“Certainly, ma’am,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that was all sexual intent. He knew enough Qunlat to know the meaning. “I’m flattered.”

Bull hid a smile as Shokrakar got the full effect of Krem’s terrifyingly attractive smile and was flustered for all of two seconds. “Yes, well, quite,” she managed, clearing her throat as the Chargers hid their smiles. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Krem said with a polite bow, and she turned on her heel to head back, the very tips of her ears red. Herah gaped at Krem, delighted.

“You just _hit on Shokrakar_ ,” she breathed, practically worshipful. “And you’re _alive_.”

“It’s a gift,” Krem said with a shrug, sitting back down. Arvaarad nodded to them and followed Shokrakar back to the Valo-kas.

Dorian looked up at Bull, smiling, and Bull smiled back. Things looked like they were falling into place.

oOo

It was a beautiful clearing, a thin stream running to their right as they set up for was sure to be a very boring morning. Bull had brought his writing supplies with the intention to do something about the backlog of reports he needed to fill, and he watched as Dorian and Herah both stretched until they were comfortable. Avaraad laid out a comfortable woven rug for the two to sit on, and they both knelt, knee to knee.

Herah exhaled slowly, and the two settled, their expressions clearing.

“Dorian,” she began, in the tones of ritual, and the hair on the back of Bull’s neck rose at the first feeling of magic swirling through the air, gathering to Herah’s hands. “I kneel before you in preparation to work on what binds you. Do you understand my intent?”

“I do,” Dorian said, his voice raspy, and the collar pulsed.

“Then let us begin.” She closed her eyes, and reached out to grip the collar. Dorian pressed his thumb and index fingers together, sitting them palm up on his lap as he closed his eyes to sink into meditation. They would be that way for some time, he knew. He watched as Avaraad rose, moving so that he sat directly behind Herah. He was the picture of calm control, completely without expression as he settled down to wait. His eyes unfocused, and Bull knew that he was sinking into meditation as well. He shrugged off the shivers of unease and picked up his work, dipping his quill into the in bottle.

_Anaan essam Qun. I have added a new member to the company that I lead, a former pleasure slave from the upper echelons of Tevinter. He is potentially a mine of information, if his voice can be fixed or I can learn the sign language he speaks. I also have encountered a former Viddathiss, who escaped before I could see justice done. I shall continue my hunt for him when possible. Orlais, it seems, has been troubled recently. I am currently working in the western approach, but will be returning North when I have finished the contracts here. It is uncomfortably wet. Hissrad_

That finished, he went back to write more on the state of Val Royeaux and beyond. It was almost noon when Herah let out a low, uncomfortable groan and released the collar to fall back into Avaarad’s waiting arms.

“Ow,” she said faintly, and he passed her a water skin as Dorian stirred, stretching widely. “Well. That was not what I expected.”

Bull finished sealing the letters as Dorian got unsteadily to his feet, stretching again. “What is it?”

She shook herself out, rolling her neck. “This is going to take some explaining.” Dorian sat back down, and Bull went over to sit by them as Avaarad helped her back up. She thought for a minute, clearly trying to decide how to word it. “Picture a puzzle ring,” she said at last. “Three rings that hook together, and because of the way they’re twisted, you can move them apart but they’re all still connected. That’s what the collar is. There are three main sections to it, all hooked together. The first is the magic blocking. That’s pretty straightforward. The next two are more complicated. One blocks his ability to communicate, and the other is compulsions. Forcing him to do things.”

“Okay,” Bull said slowly, not liking where she was going with this.

“Here’s where it gets bad. They’re so carefully tangled up that I can’t just snap the collar or it’ll kill him,” she said bluntly. “It’s a failsafe that’s built in to most _saarebas_ collars. Try to take it off, boom, dead. What I _can_ do is put something into the collar that will allow me to snap two of the rings. Think of it like a file, stuck in the center of where they’re hooked. The rings think they’re all still connected, but as they move back and forth so does the file, wearing down the last ring. It’ll break within a year.”

Dorian touched the collar, biting his lip.

“Other good news,” she said brightly, “he’s super strong. Like, crazy strong. So that’ll speed the process up somewhat. Oh, and a necromancer.”

Bull’s brain screeched to a halt as he turned to look at Dorian, who smiled sheepishly. “Really?” he said, and Dorian nodded. “You know, at this point I can’t even be surprised.”

“So,” Herah said, “what rings am I snapping, Dorian? Snapping the magic one won’t cause backlash, but the when I do it’ll divert the power to the others. If you pick your voice, your compulsions will become completely out of your hand. You’ll be able to talk, but you’ll be under Bull’s complete control. No chance of freedom of choice for at least a year. He tells you to stop, you won’t be able to move until the collar breaks. Chose the compulsions, what speech you have now is gone. Even just one word is going to be excruciating pain. You’ll have to depend totally on sign.”

Dorian took Bull’s hand without question, and wrote out C-O-M-P-U-L-S-I-O-N-S. Bull winced. 

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, and Dorian nodded. He sighed, seeing the pain in his eyes, and gently ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “It’s going to be a full year.” 

Dorian signed at him, the words familiar. ‘Do it.’

He nodded, turning to Herah. “Compulsions and the magic,” he said, his heart aching as Dorian blinked back a few tears. She nodded. 

“Lunch first, and then we’ll get started,” she said. "It's going to be a long process."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not out of the woods just yet, folks.


	6. Freedom Within

Lunch with the Valo-Kas was a little different. They welcomed the Chargers without an issue, though they kept their distance from the admitted Ben-Hassrath in their midst. Their food was deliciously spicy, and the two Tevene fell on it like dying men sighting redemption. The Valo-kas thought it was hysterical to see two humans crying from the heat while still grinning in joy, and Bull didn’t deny that it was pretty funny.

He took a seat on the grass a decent distance away, and Herah followed him out to sit next to him. Arvaarad sat far enough away that he was out of earshot but still within sight, Meraad joining him and butting their heads together affectionately.

“So,” Bull said after some small talk, “I know this is a weird question from a Qun following Qunari, but… why _do_ you have an arvaarad?”

Herah grimaced, her back to Arvaarad, but when she spoke her voice was perfectly even. “We have four mages in Valo-kas, and a lot more people who aren’t. There are a lot of people who still follow the Qun, even if they are Vashoth. I don’t know much about the Qun, but Shokrakar decided that she would rather have an Arvaarad in case things went wrong than rely on us to know our limits.”

“You disagree,” Bull said quietly.

She looked up at him, frustration clear on her face. “I am not a thing. I am not _property_ , to be chained in case I run away. Maybe I am dangerous, but I am _not_ a mindless thing.” She looked back down at her food, breathing deeply and letting a mask of calm build itself on her face. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? I have a kith, a good kith, and a good commander who pays us equally and likes that I build bombs and can heal a little bit. If that means I have to have Arvaarad follow me around like a big shadow that can snap my neck when I work, I guess it’s fine. It just feels like… for a free mage, I’m still collared.” She picked at her food. “I’ve seen the not-life _saarebas_. That’s what we call them, the collared ones without much mind. At least I can fight back.”

Bull set his food down, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. “There’s a concept of the Qun that tells us that within our bonds we can find peace. For the Arvaarad, it is in making sure that those in their care, their _saarebas_ , stay safe and uncorrupted. The bond between the two runs very deep.” He hesitated, seeing her mulish expression. “I was in Tevinter for a time, and the man who bought me kept me chained in a room so narrow that my horns dug into the wall and held me still. But there was a window, high in the walls, and every morning the sun would come up, burning my eyes. But with the sun came tiny, beautiful birds, maybe as long as my thumb, that sang so beautifully it brought me to tears. It was like nothing I’d ever heard. I could do nothing but listen, blinded and bound, and _that_ was where I found freedom. I had been beaten, tortured, and forced to do things someone your age should not hear of, but he could not take how the birds made me _feel_.”

Herah stared at him, her eyes full of wonder, and slowly touched her heart. He nodded.

“So long as you are free _here_ ,” he thumped his chest, “no one can cage you. No restriction can bind your soul. You can be beaten, bound, forced, and submit to the will of others, but within those bonds you can still find peace inside yourself. You must learn to sink into that place of peace, where nothing can touch you, and let it fill you.”

Herah sat back, staring into the distance, and he waited patiently. Finally, she said, “Arvaarad just wants me safe? Not to… bind me?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh. Excuse me for a second.”

He nodded, and she got to her feet, going over to the pair. Arvaarad looked up at her quizzically. She motioned for him to stand up and he did, clearly perplexed, and froze as she hugged him tight. Slowly he hugged her back, listening to what she was saying, and actually smiled. He ruffled her hair, looking like he’d just been given a great gift while Meraad looked like he’d been whacked on the head with a pole. She bounced a few times, standing on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. Letting him go, she walked back to Bull as Arvaarad nodded to him with a slightly baffled smile.

“So, is it true that all the women don’t wear shirts in Par Vollen?” Herah demanded as she sat back down. “Because Shokrakar claims that she’d never seen a shirt and Ashaad says she’s lying.”

Bull laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, you are something, Herah Adaar.”

oOo

They decided to start breaking the collar as soon as possible, and as the sun passed its zenith they gathered to prepare. This time, all the Chargers came to the clearing, and the Valo-kas ringed it to watch. Bull had summed up the situation for the Chargers, and they all wanted to be there to support Dorian. They sat around the mat as Dorian slowly laid down, resting his head in Herah’s lap. Arvaarad sat behind her again, but this time he reached up, gently holding her head. She looked tiny in his huge hands, her curls bouncing over his fingers.

“Dorian,” she began. “You’ve chosen to break the bonds of magic and compulsions. Has that changed?”

He shook his head.

“Do you have anything you wish to say before I start?”

Dorian hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment before nodding. Opening them again, he made eye contact with each in the circle and said, his voice breaking, “ _Thank you_.” 

Dalish sniffled a little, and Bull reached out to take Dorian’s hand as Herah gathered the magic to her hands and grasped the collar.

It was different this time. Dorian was far more aware of what was happening, and sometimes his hand would tighten on Bull’s as he grimaced and hissed softly. He started sweating after the first few minutes, biting back pained whimpers in the back of his throat. Herah started speaking, her eyes still closed.

“The collar is hooked on his magic like a thistle,” she said in an airy, detached voice. “I have to pull each hook out very carefully, or it’s not going to work right. Whoever made this _really_ wanted to keep him from using his gifts.”

Dorian whimpered again, his grip tightening enough that he winced. Grim took his other hand, rubbing over the tender skin at his wrist. 

“Bull,” Herah said, a bead of sweat trickling down her face, “I need you to talk to him. About anything. Recite the Qun, or something. He needs out of his head.”

Bull swallowed hard, and tried to think what he knew. “Dorian,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm, “This is a story of the South. There’s a book in the Val Royeaux Library with lots of poems from the Southern mythos in it. This is from the Avvar.” Bull began. “Sing the song of Tyrrda Bright-Axe, mountain maker, spirit’s bride: Free, her people, forged in fastness-“

Grim broke in, his voice low and sweet, like water over feet on hot days. “Made in mountains, hardy hide. Wise in wisdom, calm in counsel, great in gifts her grateful guests. Sacrificed she did to spirits, took their teachings, followed quests. Bright her axe, unbreaking crystal, stirred to flame when temper flies.” 

Dorian had opened his eyes, bleary though they were, and the tension slid away from Herah’s shoulders as he focused on Grim.

“Gifted from her leaf-eared lover, laughing lady of the skies. Bested blades of all who tried, _Maiden_ , spurning all requests, Tyrrda Birght-Axe, Dreamer’s Eyes. Avvar-Mother, of her making.” Grim smiled at him, and nodded to Bull to take the next stanza.

He did, still shocked to have heard so much. “Thelm Gold-Handed, fingers greasy, jeweled rings with glitter shone, took in tribes in times of trouble, fed them fat to weaken bone. Warriors great and great in number, sun-kissed swords to fight his wars, drake-scaled shirts their bodies covered, heart-wine stained the salty shores.”

Herah gasped, and he _heard_ the snap as Dorian’s magic broke its bonds. His hand was suddenly surrounded by purple fire, and he bit back a scream at the sight of it. Dorian’s head tipped back in bliss, face going slack with relief. The flames didn’t hurt, just flickered around him and slowly morphed into snakes that turned, curling up Dorian’s arms and settling in a ball on his chest. Veilfire popped into existence, little green lanterns to light the place, and popped back out of life just as quickly. 

The smile on Dorian’s face made it worth it, and he opened his eyes just enough to meet Bull’s and smile with heartbreaking joy before relaxing back into Herah’s lap.

“Not long now,” she whispered, and in only a few seconds there was a much softer click. She mumbled something, and the collar stopped glowing, the runes fading to plain etching on the leather. Her hands fell away from it, and she fell into Arvaarad. Dorian slowly sat up, touching the collar with shaky hands. The flame snakes disappeared, and his smile widened even more.

He grabbed Bull’s hands, beaming. “Free,” he said fiercely, and Bull grabbed the collar as it glowed. Dorian didn’t even care, laughing as he bore the pain with him, and jumped to his feet. Herah beamed as Dorian bolted towards the open meadow, grabbing his glaive on the way. The group followed, watching him crest the small hill, and throw his arms wide. For a moment, nothing happened, then-

 _fire_.

Dorian let loose the most terrifying fireball Bull had ever seen, directly into the sky. It rolled from the glaive, from his mouth, from both of his hands up into the air and came crashing down on a tree on the far, far side of the meadow, incinerating it instantly. Dorian laughed hysterically, falling to his knees, and Herah clapped his arm.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently. “That collar was on for two years. He’s needed to get that out of his system. He’ll be all right.”

oOo

When Bull finally made his way into their tent that night after dinner with some of the Valo-kas, he found Dorian sitting in the corner, holding a tiny wisp of veilfire in his hands and silently crying. From the way his shirt was soaked, it had been going on for a while.

“Hey,” he said softly, and Dorian looked up guiltily, making to put out the wisp. “No, it’s all right. Want to sit with me?” 

Dorian hesitated, wavering, but came to him anyway. Instead of sitting, he curled up next to him, head resting on Bull’s leg as he passed the wisp from one hand to the other. Bull gently wiped the tears from his face, waiting until Dorian was calm again to speak.

“Does it hurt?” Bull asked, and he shook his head, offering it to him. With extreme reluctance, he let Dorian tip it onto his hand. It felt like holding smoke, strange as it sounded. Taking the other hand, Dorian spelled out, M-E-M-O-R-Y. O-F. F-I-R-E. Bull grunted, staring at it. “So, like the ghost of a fire?”

Dorian nodded, taking it back and setting it on the ground. He motioned to himself, and Bull carefully paid attention, putting his new language skills to work.

‘D-e-l-a-c-o-u-r-t kept in dark r-o-o-m-s. Very scared. No light. Do not like dark now.’

“Oh, Dorian,” he said quietly, and Dorian shrugged, smiling a little wryly. “I can light a lantern, so no matter what, there’s light.”

‘h-a-s-s-l-e.’

Bull snorted, rolling his eye. “What, one little lantern? I think I can manage that. No, stop that, don’t protest.” Dorian glowered at him from where his hands were raised. “I’ll get the flint. _You_ need to get ready for bed.”

Dorian waved his attention back. ‘Leave tomorrow?’

“Probably. The Valo-kas aren’t bad, but I’ll be a lot more comfortable when we’re away from them.” 

Dorian frowned, distraught. ‘One more day? Please?’

Bull hesitated, and Dorian pulled his best pleading look. He sighed, rubbing his face. “I’m getting soft,” he muttered. “Fine. One more day.”

Dorian beamed at him, rising to get changed.

Bull had just lit the lamp, the veilfire disappearing, when Dorian came up behind him and hugged him tight. He smiled, resting his battered hand on Dorian’s fine, still unscarred one. “Hey,” he said quietly. Dorian hummed in response, nuzzling into his back. Bull chuckled, turning in Dorian’s arms, and smiled when he saw the pure joy on Dorian’s face. “It’s good to see you happy.”

Dorian thumped his head against Bull’s chest to hide his smile, and Bull carefully maneuvered them into the bedroll. Dorian curled up next to him, relaxing more than he ever had before. Bull was really out of practice, if he hadn’t been able to tell how scared Dorian was of the dark. He settled down, and was just about asleep when Dorian shifted, moving up. He almost had his eye open when a quick, barely there kiss was pressed to his lips and Dorian was abruptly back in his normal place, going very, very still. He reached up, touching his lips and feeling them curve into a smile as Dorian buried his face against his side.

“Good night to you too,” he murmured, and pulled Dorian closer against his side.

oOo

Their last day with the Valo-kas was surprisingly good. Bull had missed not having to look down every time he wanted to talk to someone, and some of the more-Qunari-than-Vashoth wanted to talk politics, so he settled down with Ashaad One and a few of the others to chat. Some of the younger ones were fascinated by Dorian, and so he was somehow roped into teaching dance lessons for most of the morning. By lunch, they could all do a passable waltz, Arvaarad somberly bowing to an aggressively pink Meraad to convince him to join them for practice. Shokrakar had been cornered by Krem and Dalish, and was listening intently to what the two had to say. It seemed highly suggestive in nature, if how red her ears were was any indication.

Herah was bright and relaxed again, chattering a mile a minute, and even Hissrad seemed content to lounge, sprawling out and snoring in the grass. Bull firmly squashed any and all ideas of murdering him where he lay. Disturbing and terror inducing the former viddathiss might be, he really didn’t feel like taking on the entirety of Valo-kas. 

Grim was playing a very silent game of Diamondback with Ashaad Two, Sata-kas, and a terrifyingly burly former tamassran named Katoh that made him want to correct his posture every time she sailed past with the most terrifying long-bow he’d ever seen. It was a very strange experience.

There was also the small matter of Kaariss.

His name seemed to be some sort of bastardization of the word “kaaras”, for navigator. He was a strange, awkward Vashoth of about 23, not fully grown into his limbs and apparently decent with a sword but an extremely talented woodworker. He was also attempting poetry.

“Okay, but really, I think I’ve got it this time,” he insisted to the older ones. “It’s one those fancy Orlesian ones. A sonnet.”

Ashaad One looked to the heavens. “I hold always patience in my heart,” he rumbled, “for thus it is said, _mastery of the self is mastery of the world_. And yet, Kaariss ari-Nehraason, I find my soul dragged down by the weight of your words.”

Kaariss glared, holding the little book close to his chest. “I’m trying to create culture!”

Sata-kas shook his head, a strange sight with only one horn and the other loaded in beaded jewelry. “Kaariss, suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it. I am doing this now, as my ears have yet to recover from the attempts at _waka_. You have a gift for the creation of physical things, you are skilled at repair, and yet you insist on attempting the metaphysical.”

“Arvaarad liked them!”

“Arvaarad,” Katoh said, looming above him, “is a love struck fool. Hone your skills further before descending upon the enemy, Kaariss.”

He sighed, slumping. Bull hid a smile as Katoh smacked the top of his head and he straightened up with perfect posture. “Yes, Katoh.”

She nodded, sailing away back to her table. Grim gave her a long, considering look, and she raised a smooth considering eyebrow back. Bulll drank to keep from laughing. 

Dorian appeared at his side with a jingle of bells, and promptly draped himself on Bull’s lap. “Excuse you,” he said mildly, and Dorian stole his mug. To absolutely no ones surprise, his shirt had mysteriously vanished at some point, and he was barefoot again. The gold rings were particularly alluring in the afternoon sun, and looked glorious against his dark skin.

Kaariss watched him curiously. “Dorian,” he said at last, “you are from Tevinter?”

Dorian nodded, and Bull handed over a piece of his bread before Dorian could start begging. He seized it with a cackle, making the others laugh.

“Do they dance a lot in Tevinter?”

Dorian nodded again, signing to Bull for him to interpret. 

“He says, we have many parties. Find ten silk scarves for someone and things get very interesting. The dance of ten veils is very dramatic, but I do not remember all the steps these days. It is a good way to build stamina, so dance classes are required.” 

Dorian patted his cheek, finishing off the bread and eyeing the remainder. Bull handed it over without comment, and Dorian gleefully plucked a piece off. 

“And dance is part of culture as well,” Kaariss said, fascinated. “As much as words.”

Dorian nodded, and Bull added, “If not more. Tevinter values physical perfection-“ Here, Dorian dramatically gestured to himself and Bull pinched his hip to make him jump “-so lots of emphasis is put on the physical arts as well as the mental ones. Their army has dance lessons as well.”

“Do _you_ dance, The Iron Bull?” Meraad said, coming up with Arvaarad smiling behind him. Bull chuckled.

“If I have to. The Val Royeaux courts think I’m just fascinating. I can manage a few very simple dances, provided I have a tall enough partner.”

Kaariss seemed lost in thought, fascinated by the idea, and Bull wasn’t quite sure what to think. This strange group of people were about as far away from the Tal-Vashoth of Seheron as it was possible to be. He absently rubbed the spot on Dorian’s hip where he’d pinched until Dorian flicked his hand away, apparently content to sit and listen as Ashaad One and the others chatted about the new Arishok. Herah and Rocky were comparing recipes for bombs, and somehow in the commotion Shokrakar had disappeared with Krem and Dalish.

oOo

‘You are quiet tonight,’ Dorian signed as they prepared for bed. Bull sighed, wincing as he took his brace off.

“Yeah. Thinking, I suppose.”

‘A-b-o-u-t?’

“The Valo-kas. They’re… different from the Tal-Vashoth I’ve met before. For one thing, they’re not stark raving mad and burning orphanages.”

Dorian grimaced, kneeling in front of him and pressing his hands to his knee. Bull was about to push him off when he felt warmth start to trickle in from Dorian’s hands, far hotter than they should have been. “Ohhhh. Never mind, that feels nice, please don’t stop.” He fell backwards onto his pillow, tension dissipating with each burst of heat. The knotted muscles in his damaged leg slowly relaxed for the first time in ages, and he groaned with relief. “I’m actually going to be able to walk tomorrow. Fuck yeah.” 

Dorian kept the heat until his leg was finally loosened up, and he couldn’t even find it in himself when Dorian cautiously moved up his side, a still warm hand pressing on his chest as he hovered over him, uncertain.

Bull finally took pity on him, gently pulling him down for a soft, slow kiss that had the mage melting against him with a soft groan. 

“Good night, Dorian,” he murmured, and Dorian smiled again his lips, nestling in against his side.


	7. Gold, Gold, Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE THERE BE PORN
> 
> And Herah being a cute, but the two things do not intersect.
> 
> The chapter was written almost entirely to "Gold", by Imagine Dragons. Hence the title.
> 
> Enjoy your porn, and my complete inability to write anything without politics and religion.

The Chargers were up and packed to go by the time Valo-kas began staggering out of the tents, Dalish and Krem having made their walk of shame back before dawn covered in bites and scratches and looking utterly pleased with themselves. Dorian, not a morning person, was half asleep as they finished up breakfast. Bull kept nudging him back awake, grinning as Dorian scowled at his bread.

Herah came running over when she emerged from the tent she shared with Arvaarad, who seemed far too tired to go chasing after her. She skidded to a stop in front of them, clearly upset. “You’re leaving so soon?”

“Have to get moving,” Skinner said, with surprising kindness. Dalish nodded, sympathetic.

“Aww. I hoped you’d stay longer,” she said wistfully, and Grim patted the ground. She flopped down next to him, gently knocking her head against his. He smiled, knocking back.

“We’ve got some contracts in the West and then we’re back up North. We mostly work out of there and Nevarra,” Bull said, rolling his eyes when Dorian grouchily stole two of his berries. “Dorian, you have your own.” All he got was an extremely rude sign that made Krem laugh, and he gave up. Herah giggled, her curls bouncing. “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, mostly. I got sexiled for a bit,” she said without batting an eye. “Meraad’s apparently decided that he’s going to make his move in a big way, if how loud Arvaarad was is anything to go by. Maybe I’ll finally get my own tent! That’d be nice.”

Dorian choked on his bread, holding in a laugh.

“Do the other mages share with you when they’re here?” Rocky asked, curious, and she nodded. 

“Yes. We have the largest tent because we share with Arvaarad, but it’s rare for all of us to be in the same place. Dehaara is mostly a healer, so she works with the serious business kith who take the really big contracts. Ena-hissra specializes in lightning and fire, so he’s with the bodyguard detail. And Maara does really fancy things with rocks, so she goes all over the place. Since I haven’t been here long, Shokrakar likes to keep an eye on me. And I break stuff! That’s fun. Sometimes I get to make really fun things too!” Herah gratefully took a chunk of offered bread from Grim. “Everyone except for Shokrakar shares. And sometimes she shares too.”

Dalish and Krem knocked their fists together without looking, wearing matching grins.

“You two are _not_ quiet,” she said dryly, and their grins widened.

Bull chuckled, smiling as Dorian apparently decided he was done with this whole “awake” nonsense, and curled up in the grass. “So… what’s Hissrad’s deal?”

She winced. “Oh. He was Ben-Hassrath. And he fell in love with a viddathari, and they ran away together. And then they caught up with him and killed her. And then tried to kill him, but he survived and now he’s like my adopted uncle. Who kills people when they’re rude to me. It’s weird. He’s really protective.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he said with a grimace. He let his hand fall to Dorian’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as Dorian exhaled slowly, sinking into sleep disturbingly quick. “So, are you headed out as well?”

Herah shook her head. “We’re waiting for Captain Tully to get back so he can pick me up with his company to go do something. I get to go without Arvaarad! He’s stressing. It’s adorable.”

A loud sigh alerted them to the fact that Arvaarad was within hearing distance. “I am not _stressing_ , Adaar,” he scolded gently, and she grinned up at him. He relented. “Perhaps a little.” He bowed to Bull. “Kithshok Shokrakar requests your presence, The Iron Bull.”

“Ahhh, time for the money talk,” he said wryly, standing up. Dorian cracked open his eyes, looking up at him with some concern. “No, don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m just going to be gone for about an hour.” 

He followed Arvaarad towards the other tents only to pause between the two as Arvaarad stopped, looking torn.

“Herah is very young,” he said at last. “I worry. I fear. She is young, and beautiful, and far too trusting. I am supposed to keep her safe, and the world safe from her. Ashaad and Sata-kas are still not sure that she should be allowed to speak, but I must balance my fear with hope, with trust, that together we can be a pair. She did not see that, she saw only a jailer. Thank you for helping her see my side.”

Bull nodded silently, and Arvaarad sighed deeply, looking at his hands. 

“I fear that I am not enough,” he said slowly. “That I should build the control rods, instead of just the gauntlet. But then am I the jailer after all? Have I ceased being the protector, and become cruel, to hold such power and pain over their heads? Sata-kas reminds me of the story of the _ashkaari_ and the beekeeper when I say such things, and yet. Hissrad will say nothing, he refuses to give an opinion.”

Bull sighed, not sure when it had been decided that he was going to be the spiritual adviser for the Valo-kas, but supposed it was part and parcel with being Ben-Hassrath. “Existence is a choice,” he said, not unkindly. “There is no chaos in the world, only complexity. That is what we are told. I won’t lie to you, mages scare me. Demons, Fade, all that? Scares the shit out of me. But you always have a choice. I should tell you that it would be good to keep Herah subservient and obedient, but I’ve met her. I’ve seen how happy and bubbly she is. And it’s hard to see someone so tiny as a threat.”

Arvaarad nodded, his expression turning peaceful. “Thank you, The Iron Bull.”

They continued on, and Bull was waved onto a rich purple rug before Shokrakar, who was carefully stamping on her vitaar on her arms. He waited, letting himself sink into patient half-meditation as she worked. At last, she set her stamps aside and moved so she knelt the same as he did. They both bowed, formal, being careful not to hit each others horns. It was far from a new tradition, and given the unstable nature of work when it came to mercenary companies tradition was observed where possible. Especially when two companies worked together, and used the services of a younger member, the leader would speak on behalf of the younger member to ensure they were being paid appropriately.

“The Iron Bull.”

“Kithshok Shokrakar.” The words rankled in his mouth, but he owed the Valo-kas at least his respect for freeing Dorian.

Shokrakar silently poured tea for both of them, and Bull sighed in pleasure when he saw it was red. She smiled, and they toasted each other before drinking. Immediately the light, lingering headache he’d been fighting since he woke started to ease.

“You honor me,” he said in Qunlat. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve had red tea. It is so hard to get here.”

“It was very expensive,” Shokrakar agreed in the same language. “These Southerners should learn how to use more than elfroot for what ails them.”

“Agreed,” Bull murmured, sipping again and relishing the taste. It felt like home. Even here, in the midst of a group of Tal-Vashoth, potentially deadly people ready to take his head at any moment, he found peace in such a simple thing. His heart ached, and he closed his eye for a moment to savor the taste, committing it to memory. They took their time drinking, silent until they were both finished and set the empty cups aside. Arvaarad took them away, and brought a third mat. He bowed to them both and sat, a silent representative for Herah’s sake.

“Normally we would have Herah here, but she is far more interested in taking things apart than money,” Shokrakar said dryly, switching to the Trade tongue. “I love the child dearly, but she has no business sense at all. So she has asked Arvaarad to sit for her. Is this acceptable?”

“If you would send for her as well I would be very grateful,” he said. “I have found that it is never too early to learn what is expected at negotiations, and she may well need those skills some day.” He bowed again to show he meant no rudeness, his knee complaining far less than normal. _Thank you, Dorian_.

“You are correct,” Shokrakar said approvingly, bowing back. “Arvaarad, if you would bring Herah Adaar?”

Arvaarad bowed silently and rose. The rest of Valo-kas was starting to gather to watch from a reasonable distance, Taarlok scrawling something while Kaariss looked on in fascination. Instead of just bringing Herah, the entirety of the Chargers (including a very grouchy and yawning Dorian) followed as well. Herah looked nervous, and when she and Arvaarad reached the mat they bowed in time, knelt, and bowed again. Bull smiled reassuringly at her.

“Herah Adaar, we open negotiations for the cost of the work done on the collar of one Dorian of Tevinter, former slave,” Shokrakar said formally. “Have you anything to declare?”

She looked nervously at Arvaarad, who shook his head. “Um. No.” Shokrakar lifted an eyebrow and she hastily corrected, “No, Kithshok Shokrakar.”

Shokrakar nodded her acknowledgement, and jerked her head at Bull. Herah went pink, bowing again to make up for forgetting her manners. “My thanks to The Iron Bull of the Chargers for his generosity,” she said quickly. “Please show compassion on our Company.”

Bull bowed again, not bothering to hide his smile. “My thanks to the Arcanist for her work. We are honored by your skills.” Everyone straightened back up, and Bull noticed Dorian watching with fascination. Shokrakar poured more tea, and negotiations began in earnest.

It was not a particularly fun experience. However, it only took about half an hour to hash out the precise amount of payment (1,000 royals, completely reasonable and probably low), who the funds would be distributed to (Herah, with a portion to Shokrakar as the company head), whether or not they would be paid in installments (yes), whether Arvaarad should take a cut (he said no), whether gifts should be given over the years to keep a friendly association between the two companies (no, again, mostly because there was no guarantee that any of them would be alive), and finally whether Dorian would return to them in a year to have the collar checked on (yes, with no additional charge). Bull sat back, satisfied, and the two bowed to each other and Herah and Arvaarad bowed to them both.

Shokrakar rose, and Bull grimaced when he made the attempt. Dorian was at his side with Grim in an instant, helping him to his feet. His knee wasn’t nearly as painful as normal, but it still wasn’t comfortable. 

“Well, that was interesting,” Herah said, her voice slightly faint. “That’s… a lot of money.”

“You did good work,” Bull said firmly. “You deserve it, and we can afford it.”

Dorian signed at Skinner, who grinned. “He says you paid more for him today than the man that bought him. He’s very flattered.”

oOo

Hissrad pulled him aside when Herah started crying and hugging Dorian, and he braced himself. The silver eyes fixed on him, and Hissrad said softly, “There will come a day when they will make you choose, Hissrad. Maybe not soon. Maybe not for many years. But that day will come. You will be tested in the way most designed to cut to your heart, and there will be no mercy if you fail.”

“I know,” Bull said.

“And I know you do. But you must _remember_.” The Viddathiss closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “And the Qun does not leave you. Not even when it turns its back. It stays with you. The words are true, even if the execution is not. Do not forget this, Hissrad.”

Bull was a little taken aback. “Why are you telling me this?”

The Hissrad-that-wasn’t smiled, but it was pained. “Because you don’t mean to send the Ben-Hassrath for us. You take a mage to your bed-“ he raised a hand when Bull made to protest. “Sexually or not, he sleeps with you, with no _arvaarad_ and his magic free, and keep another mage in your company. You have women in your company. A dwarf. An _aqun-athlok_ , or something similar. You are a singular man, and while The Iron Bull is who you are on the outside, Hissrad just another facet, you must look at whether you are Hissrad _inside_ , or if you are The Iron Bull after all.”

Bull could feel panic building in his throat, but there was no judgment in the other Hissrad’s eyes. “I know who I am.”

“And who are you?”

“I-“ his voice stuck, and he swallowed hard. Hissrad nodded, his eyes sad.

“Travel safely, The Iron Bull.” He didn’t clap him on the shoulder, simply walked back to the Valo-kas, where Arvaarad was gently butting heads with Dalish, who kept giggling.

He had to take a moment to fight down the terror in his throat.

oOo

They got the first letter a week after a run in with some bandits who managed to miss the fact they had a Qunari in their midst, in a small town with a surprisingly good post office.

 _Dear Chargers,_ it began on soft paper with a slightly shaky hand.

_Arvaarad said that I should improve my handwriting after I made an attempt at a healing potion that ended up exploding things, so now I have to label every ingredient so Sata-kas can check it, as well as keep a journal. But I thought I would write to you as well because it’s you or my parents and my mother is blind. She doesn’t do much reading, and Father is very busy. I am not deflecting. Promise. We just had a really great fight with some giants! Iron-Ass came to pick me up and Arvaarad only threatened him with dismemberment a little bit if I got hurt. Shokrakar didn’t cry because she’s Shokrakar, but her allergies made her eyes water. It’s funny, though, she’s never mentioned them before._

_I got to see more of my kith while with Iron-Ass, which was nice. Kaariss got very defensive and kept making me flower crowns when Nunna said my horns should be taller, and made me wear it all day. I don’t understand why, my horns are very small and I know this. They are also very weird shaped. The Iron Bull, are there others with strange stick-up horns like mine?_

_I hope everyone is doing well, and that no one is sick or hurt. Also, Hissrad says to say “ataash varin kata, aban aqun”, whatever that means._

_Love, Herah Adaar_

The paper was pink.

The Chargers stared as Rocky finished reading it out loud to them all, baffled. Dinner was put on hold while they all gathered around to stare at it like it was some recently unearthed mystic artifact. 

“She wrote us a letter?” Bull said blankly.

“Looks that way.” Rocky smelled it, his smile widening. “Smells like firebombs. That’s Herah, all right.”

Dorian grinned, taking it to reread as he leaned against Bull’s side. He shook his head, amazed. “Tal-Vashoth.”

oOo

_Herah,_

_I have only met one Qunari with horns like yours, a Tal-Vashoth who called herself The Gemsbok. She was a very deadly assassin. A Gemsbok has horns like yours, only much, much taller, and looks something like a druffalo, except much skinnier and with a very long face like a horse. They are very fast, and like goring people. So did the Gemsbok._

_Dorian accidentally tripped on his own glaive in a fight today, but that was fine because it disemboweled someone in front of him. He was furious about his robes, but they didn’t stain, so I guess he’s fine._

_Never mind, he just slapped the back of my head and told me that no, he is not fine, he is furious and I am mocking his pain, and that we have to go have dinner._

_Asit tal-eb,_

_The Iron Bull_

_PS: Tell one of the Qunlat speakers “Taarsidath-an halsaam” while looking very sad and tell me how they respond._

oOo

_Dear Chargers,_

_Your leader is MEAN. SHOKRAKAR COULDN’T STOP LAUGHING FOR A WEEK WHEN SHE LOOKED AT ME. I SAID THAT TO HISSRAD, THE IRON BULL._

_MEAN._

_Love, Herah_

oOo

Bull chuckled as he carefully tucked the letter away in his pack, feeling accomplished. It was finally approaching winter, and the Chargers were indulging in actual rooms in an actual inn. Dorian was lounging in their bed in his blue pants and nothing else, reading a book that had been left on the bedside table by some former inhabitant. The Chargers were in the room next door, and if the high pitched moan he’d just heard was anything to go by they were having a good time. He took the harness off, and Dorian made a soft hissing noise when he saw the bruises on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Bull said, rotating it. “It’s not even stiff today.”

Dorian hummed, and went back to his book. The belt made its way to the same pile as the harness after some careful unbuckling, and Dorian hopped out of bed, pushing him to it so he could help with the brace. It had become their nightly ritual. He relaxed, and Dorian tutted as he carefully took the brace off, warming his hands to ease some of the aches and pains of the day away. Dorian helped him out of the boots as well, and Bull let out a restive sigh as his leg relaxed.

Satisfied with his work, Dorian patted his leg and let him lay down before lighting the little lamp on the wall. The familiar glow was soothing, and Bull would have been lying if he pretended it didn’t help him as well when he woke from some of his nastier nightmares. The light painted Dorian into beautiful bronze, glinting off the gold of his piercings. He hesitated at the side of the bed, biting his lip, and Bull raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

Dorian slowly sat down on the bed, looking up at him like he was at war with himself. Bull waited, curious, and stared in surprise as Dorian climbed onto the bed and straddled him. “Dorian?”

‘May I kiss you?’ he signed, and Bull didn’t miss how his hands shook. 

“Yes,” he said quietly, and Dorian leaned down, his hands warming as they rested on Bull’s chest. He pressed their foreheads together, lips just above his, and Bull really wished it wasn’t quite so much of a turn on to feel Dorian’s breath ghosting against his lips.

Dorian closed the distance, and Bull groaned as he reached up to curl his hand around the back of Dorian’s neck. The damn collar was soft under his fingers, but not nearly as soft as his skin, and that forced him to remember that he _wasn’t_ a bad man. He was not going to push, despite three fucking _months_ of virtual celibacy. Dorian was all smooth, controlled desire above him, his hands hot as they slid over his shoulders, and Bull gently nipped at his lips.

Dorian pulled back, unusually shy given that nightly kisses had become a thing between them, and Bull waited patiently to see what he wanted to do.

Slowly, Dorian lifted his hands, hesitating and squirming a bit. Bull’s head hit the pillow as his left hand, the claws on it now far too long, clutched and punctured the sheets. Once he had himself back under control, he looked up to see Dorian smiling bashfully, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“That was not nice,” Bull said, but he was smiling. Dorian bent down again, gently rolling his hips as they traded lazy kisses that were succeeding in driving Bull more than a little wild. _Three months_. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been without sex that long since finishing his training as Ben-Hassrath. He gently dragged his nails up Dorian’s side, getting a soft groan and shiver of pleasure in response.

“Like that?” he murmured, and Dorian nodded, reluctantly sitting up. 

He fumbled the signs for a second before finally sighing and signing, ‘Want you. Please? Fingers? I want to try.’

“ _Fuck_ , yes. Absolutely. I’m totally on board with this,” Bull said, grinning. Dorian went a very delicate shade of pink, biting his lip. Bull ran his hands over his sides, gently gripping his hips. “Dorian? You’re gorgeous.”

That got a full grin on his face, with no grandstanding, and Bull swore that he was going to make him smile like that more. He gently urged Dorian off him, and got up to fetch the little bottle of thick oil from his pack. By the time he was back, Dorian had slipped out of his pants and stood there nervously, as if waiting for Bull to pass judgment. He bent down, kissing him sweetly, and Dorian melted into him. The hope in his eyes was practically painful, and he settled back on the bed, running a hand down Dorian’s side. “Still good?” he asked softly, and Dorian nodded. “You want me to stop at any time, for _anything_ , you just tap me three times.”

Dorian smiled. ‘Like with the courtiers’, he signed, and Bull laughed.

“Yeah, like with them. I mean it, Dorian, even if you just need me to slow down. I will. I take this sort of thing seriously.” He pulled him into a slow, gentle kiss. “I want you comfortable. This isn’t about me. If you want to make this about me later, then by all means, but right now I want this to be about you. Understand?”

Dorian beamed, his eyes suspiciously shiny, and grabbed Bull’s face in both hands to kiss him firmly and nod.

Bull smiled, setting the bottle on the bedside table. “On your stomach,” he said, and Dorian dropped like a rock, turning his head to watch him as best he could. Bull knelt carefully, leaning down to press slow, soft kisses to his back, making Dorian shiver. Running his hands down to gently grip his hips, deliberately covering the tattoo, he murmured in his ear, “Is it okay if I mark your back?”

Dorian actually moaned, nodding frantically, and that was all he needed to sink his teeth into a spot that wouldn’t be aggravated by his pack, enjoying how Dorian thrashed under him. He sucked and licked over the mark, feeling a bit of pride at how well Dorian had responded. He kissed the spot sweetly, making him whimper, and moved back up to press kisses and tiny bites that wouldn’t stay over his shoulders. Dorian went boneless, and Bull smiled against his skin.

“So sweet for me,” he murmured, and Dorian bit back a moan. Sitting up, he took a moment to check his nails were short and clean, and oiled the smallest of his right hand. The left, with its three whole fingers and the claws currently on them, was hardly something he wanted to dare. 

He took his time pressing the littlest in, pleased when Dorian took it well and sighed softly beneath him. He gently pulled him up on his hip, enjoying the long, smooth line of his back and the slight flush he could just make out.

“There you go,” he crooned as Dorian loosened around him. He pulled out, slicking up his index finger and replacing it, just slight bigger. Dorian was truly beautiful, his cock just as graceful as the rest of him, and Bull took a moment to consider a future in which he could have his mouth on him. He bit back his moan, curling his finger just enough to make Dorian hold tight to the sheets, mewling softly. “Like that?” He got a nod in response and did so again, grinning at the twitch he saw. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. Bet you could come on fingers alone.”

Dorian groaned, rolling his hips back into his finger. Bull grinned, teasing him a little more before adding more oil and slowly starting to press into him. Dorian whined softly, and he ran his hand along his back, soothing him. “Bear down for me, sweetheart,” he crooned, and Dorian huffed, relaxing. “That’s right, _fuck_ , you’re doing so well. Nod when you’re okay for me to move.” He had his fingers deep now, and when Dorian nodded he slowly crooked them, waiting. He wasn’t disappointed, and got a strangled yelp as he found the little spot. Dorian reached back, tapping three times, and he jolted, carefully pulling out.

Dorian rolled over, his eyes wide, and stared at him. Bull waited, uncertain, and Dorian finally signed, ‘It has been a while since that felt nice. Surprised me.’

“Oh,” Bull said, sighing with relief. “I thought I’d triggered a bad memory.”

Dorian smiled, shaking his head. ‘Fine now. More, please?’

“You okay to stay facing me?” he asked. “It’d make signing easier.”

Dorian nodded, sprawling gracefully, and Bull groaned. Leaning down, he gently tugged one of the rings with his teeth, and Dorian threw back his head as he grabbed the sheets. Chuckling, Bull slicked his fingers and slid them in. He took his time, slowly crooking his fingers again, and started slow. It was such a pleasure on its own to simply watch Dorian react, the way his toes curled and his breath caught, the little ‘o’ of his mouth as he sighed. He took delight in how those long lashes fluttered, the smooth roll of bony hips against him. Even the tattoo, an ugly black stain against his skin, couldn’t distract him fully. Dorian made the sweetest noises, soft little pleas and pants, even with his voice silenced.

“So beautiful,” Bull whispered reverently, leaning down to kiss him. Dorian’s hands scrambled to clutch his horns, holding him there as his cock jerked in need. They traded increasingly filthy kisses as Bull slowly worked on speeding his fingers up, pressing deeper and harder, drinking in the sounds he made. At last Dorian was silently begging against his lips, forming the words but not the sound, his eyes squeezed closed as he tightened around Bull’s fingers.

“There you go,” Bull whispered, and let go of his hip to gently run his middle finger up the length of Dorian’s cock. “Go ahead.”

Dorian’s mouth opened in a silent scream as he came, eyes open to meet Bull’s one, and a shower of sparks fell from his fingers to bounce like warm hail as his body arched up. Bull carefully worked him through it, crooning sweet nothings as he came back down.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he murmured, kissing him languidly as Dorian smiled up at him, boneless. “There. You did so good for me, Dorian.” Dorian kissed the tip of his nose, and Bull chuckled as he pulled back to make sure nothing was on fire. They were safe, not so much as an ember on the floor. “Does that normally happen?”

Dorian shook his head, and Bull shrugged. Interesting. He leaned down to kiss him again, and Dorian purred again his lips. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered, and Dorian laughed breathlessly, preening. He leaned back, taking in the picture Dorian made, and smiled in satisfaction. Dorian grinned up at him, already a little sleepy but definitely giddy. “I should get something to clean you up.”

‘Not your tongue?’ Dorian signed with a rather cheeky grin, and Bull raised an eyebrow in challenge. Dorian laughed breathlessly as he lowered his head, sticking his tongue out to just touch the skin of his stomach. The laugh turned into a rather delighted groan when Bull did as asked, lapping up the spend of him with slow, easy strokes. He sat back when Dorian was clean, making a show of licking his lips, and Dorian covered his face with his hands, peeking out between his fingers.

Bull laughed as he signed, ‘F-I-L-T-H-Y!’

“You like it,” he teased and Dorian laughed again, moving over to let Bull lay down and curling into his side. Bull cleaned the oil off on a corner of sheet, relaxing.

‘I do,’ he signed, and Bull chuckled. Dorian’s arm draped across his stomach, and Bull had just reconciled himself to the fact that he was going to have to go to bed hard or make his excuses and go to the baths when Dorian’s hand moved to play with the waistband of his pants. He looked down, and Dorian looked up, biting his lip.

“You don’t have to,” he said gently, and Dorian glowered at him mulishly.

‘I shall do as I want,’ he signed firmly, and Bull smiled. 

“Good.” He leaned down, kissing the top of Dorian’s head, and he settled back down to dance his fingers along the edge of the fabric. Bull was considering it an achievement that he hadn’t ripped his own clothes off by now. He was positively _aching_ , but he wasn’t about to so much as twitch until he knew what Dorian intended. It was blatantly obvious that he was hard- baggy or not, his pants were not exactly going to hide that. They had their limits. 

“Just so you know,” Bull said as Dorian played with the fine hair peeking out, “you want to stop, that’s fine. You get at all uncomfortable, I’ll leave, deal with this somewhere else. I’m not going to be mad.”

Dorian kissed his chest, and slid his hand in slowly curl his fingers around Bull’s cock. His head thumped back into the pillow, fingers twitching as he struggled to stay still. _Your job is to be an object,_ he told himself sternly. _An object of recovery, an object for him to use-_

That promptly went right out the window when Dorian did _something_ that made him see stars and let out a strangled shout. He clapped a hand over his mouth as Dorian grinned, wicked. He stared down, wide eyed, and about arched off the bed when Dorian did it again. 

There was a knock on the door and he could have screamed, but he managed a strangled, “Little busy, thanks!”

“Got it, Chief,” Krem said through the door, and Dorian shook with silent laughter, running tantalizing fingers up and down the length of him. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he managed, and Dorian pushed at his pants. He didn’t need any encouraging, hurriedly stripping them off and letting them drop to the floor. Dorian stayed under his arm, eyeing him in blatant fascination before going back to running petal soft fingers over him.

The Iron Bull had once waited six hours tied up in bondage gear for the opportune moment to murder a man, but that was nothing compared to the torture that Dorian was inflicting on him. He wanted nothing more to roll over and rut into the smooth muscle of Dorian’s hip, but he was going to stay, damn it, and he was going to let Dorian do as he wanted. Dorian kissed his chest again, trailing his fingers tantalizingly down before starting all over again. He let himself fall into the rhythm of it, the smooth up, down, up, down, up, down. There was a growing puddle under the dark head of his cock, and he bit back a whimper as Dorian ran a finger through it, lifting it to his mouth to taste. 

Finally, just when he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his life in aching, near desperate bliss, Dorian wrapped his hand around him again and did the thing, making him arch up and fight down a yell. It was something with how he twisted his wrist and moved, and Bull had never wanted to learn something so badly in his life. Dorian repeated it over and over, mercilessly driving him until he had to grab the headboard, nearly cracking it as he came with a muted scream. The noises from next door stopped, but he couldn’t have cared less. 

Those three months had been worth it, and he was so wrung out the best he could manage was slurred Qunlat as his body thrummed with the aftershocks. That was the part he loved best, he found. Not the fucking, not the delicious crest of completion, but the afterwards when he could relax and feel ever bit of his body echoing it back to him. It was a pure, sweet pleasure, and this time they were particularly strong. He waved vaguely to one of the rags he’d washed and set out for his weapons cleaning in the morning, only protesting a little when Dorian actually got up to get it. He groaned as Dorian cleaned him up, setting the rag aside and kissing him warmly.

“You’re so good to me,” Bull slurred, smiling, and Dorian’s smile broadened. He kissed him again, surprisingly chaste, and tossed Bull his pants before climbing out to get his own on. Bull slowly managed to heave them back on, crooning absent words when Dorian cuddled up next to him. “Been a while since I had someone stay. That’ll be nice. I like waking up with people.”

Dorian grinned, sitting up to kiss him before pulling the rumpled blanket over them and settling in for the night.

Bull slept with a sated, contented smile, his whole body wonderfully relaxed.


	8. Inquisition

The world went to shit, predictably, in the middle of a pitched battle against a variety of beasts, nastiness, and a giant.

The Exalted Plains were good for that sort of thing.

His blood was singing in his veins as the boom echoed across the world, light flashing green in the sky. Wrenching his maul from the now felled giants head, he grimaced. “Had to be demons,” he muttered as Skinner appeared at his side, cleaning her blades. “Let’s clean this shit up and get going. There’s going to be at least ten companies I can think of on the march towards that thing, and I intend for us to be there first.”

“On it,” she said, disappearing back to the talk to the group. Dorian appeared next, still crackling with lightning. He grinned.

“You look beautiful.”

Dorian snorted, banishing the lightning. ‘Should I get something for you?’

“I’m good.” He strapped the maul back down, and they headed for the mounts. After slogging through with more and more gear as the Chargers work and people grew in number, they had finally given in and purchased mounts. Dorian had fallen in love with the most disturbing beast he’d ever seen, something called a ‘dracolisk’, and the rest had an assorted variety. Bull himself had a warhorse the size of a small house, affectionately named Killer. Dalish had a Halla, to no ones shock, Rocky had a very grouchy pony, Stitches and Grim both rode horses (though Grim was decidedly unhappy about it), and Skinner had a fucking _nuggalope_ that was possibly created for the sole purpose of scaring the shit out of Bull when he got up in the middle of the night. Dorian’s Princess was sedate, for looking like nightmare fuel, and Krem had chosen one as well that he named Puff. His life was weird.

He swung into the saddle, Krem riding up at his side in moments, and Dorian came up with their banner firmly in place. They had a banner, now. So fucking official it hurt. They were a proper company of fifty soldiers with seven leaders, split with ten apiece between his main forces. Grim and Krem operated as joint command of his main force, while Dorian and Dalish handled pikes and mages. Or “mages”. Dorian mostly fought at his side though, acting as a buffer to his blind spot.

“All accounted for, Chief,” Krem said, and they moved out.

oOo

They got the letter in a little town on the Ferelden-Orlais border. The paper was plain this time, rather than the usual pink, and Herah’s handwriting was shakier than it had been since before she started writing them.

_Dear Chargers,_

_Everything has gone to shit. I am terrified. We were hired to protect the Conclave and something went very wrong. My kith are missing, presumed dead. Something is wrong with my hand. There are many humans who are calling me a Herald, and I don’t know what to do. Please, if you get this, come to Haven. Map is included. We can work out payment, such as it is, but I am terrified and please help me. I have nowhere else to turn._

_Herah_

Bull whistled softly, rereading the letter as the group went quiet. “Well shit.”

“You got your orders with the mail, didn’t you?” Krem asked quietly, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Find out about the green light, join whoever’s in charge of it if possible, report back. And here we have a damn plea for assistance. Guess we’re moving to Ferelden.”

Dorian grimaced, taking the letter from him. ‘She sounds very scared.’

Dalish nodded, sympathetic. “All those humans around, and her used to being with the Valo-kas? They probably think she’s practically a monster. At least we know they haven’t killed her yet out of fear.”

“Shit,” Bull said eloquently. “All right, we’re moving through the night. I want to be at this “Haven” place as soon as possible. I don’t want to be the one to tell Shokrakar we weren’t there to keep the kid alive.”

oOo

Haven was, frankly, a mess. A mix of soldiers, civilians, Chantry folk and some extremely nasty looking ex-Templars were the main inhabitants, it seemed, but the buildings seemed sound. They tied their mounts outside, leaving the Dracolisk’s loose to protect the others. Much like their riders, Princess and Puff were possessive and vicious when riled. The rest of the Company got settled to wait. They got plenty of stares as the main squad walked in, and had just made it to the Chantry doors when a yell of, “Chargers!” had them turning.

Herah came running up the stairs, her hand glowing green and tears in her eyes. Bull opened his arms and she flung herself into them, shaking like a leaf.

“Hey there,” he said gently, his heart squeezing. “Heard you got in a bit of trouble, _imekari_.”

She let out a scared little noise, squeezing him tight. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said, her voice shaky. “I’m so scared.”

He ran a soothing hand over the springing curls, speaking softly in random Qunlat as she calmed down. Finally, she pulled back and took a deep breath, wiping her face off. Stepping back, she bowed politely, trying to be properly adult. His heart ached a little. “My apologies, Captain,” she said, clearly trying to keep her voice even. “Would you join me inside?”

He bowed back, and stepped aside to let her open the door and lead them to a back room, passing a statue of Andraste that Dorian and Krem both inclined their heads to. There were people waiting inside, mostly human, with one dwarf and one elf. They crowded in, and shut the door. Bull nodded to the corner, and everyone but Krem moved back to kneel there, waiting. 

“Welcome to the War Room, The Iron Bull,” Herah said. “My counsel. Cassandra Pentaghast, a Seeker. Leliana, our spymaster. Lady Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador. Varric Tethras, deshyr and archer. Commander Cullen Rutherford, former Templar and in charge of our forces. Solas, a Fade expert.”

Bull bowed politely, Krem a beat behind him.

“Let’s just get this out of the way first and foremost,” he said. “I’m The Iron Bull. The article is important. Also, Ben-Hassrath. For those of you who don’t know what that means, I’m a spy.”

Leliana was the only one who looked like this wasn’t a big deal, while the rest seemed inclined to shoot him. 

“I thought you were bringing in a mercenary company, not a spy,” Cullen said wryly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Herah winced.

“He’s both. And I need him.”

The room didn’t seem pleased, but Bull shrugged. “It’s what I do. Look, I have my orders from Par Vollen. They’re not huge fans of having the sky open up, and want this fixed. My orders are to join up with whoever’s stopping it and help them. Since that seems to be you, here I am. I do send out regular information to them, but I’ll run it by your Spymaster beforehand. By the way, great work with the Countess Dupre. I was very impressed.”

Leliana smiled, looking rather charmed. “It was nothing.”

The dark haired woman sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Very well, we now have a Qunari spy at our disposal.”

“And the forces of the Chargers, is that right?” Herah asked a little nervously. He nodded.

“We’re a proper kith like yours now. 50 strong, plus my head lieutenant and the rest of these saps.” He nodded to the corner, where the lot of them waved. “We’ve been taking bigger contracts. Way bigger contracts. But that doesn’t matter. We should get the formalities over with.” He bowed politely, careful to keep his horns in check. “What am I to call you?”

“Inquisitor,” she said, taking a deep breath, and bowed back. “Would it be acceptable for us to being negotiations, The Iron Bull?”

“It would, Inquisitor Herah Adaar. I will remind you that you are within your rights to have as many counselors as you deem necessary for the meeting, and that you must brew the tea yourself as a gesture of goodwill,” he added, and motioned Krem forward. “My Second. If you have any questions about the ceremony, Cremisius Aclassi will help you.” 

Krem bowed deeply. “Inquisitor.”

She bowed back, not as deep, careful not to hit him with her horns. “I am honored, The Iron Bull, at your choice of assistance. There is a logging stand not far from here, I shall prepare there.”

Bull bowed again, and reached out to clasp her forearm. Her hand couldn’t even span the bulk of his muscle. “I am honored by your request, Inquisitor Herah Adaar. Kithshok Shokrakar should be proud to have kith such as you.”

Herah blinked back a few tears. “Thank you, The Iron Bull.”

“Of course.” He let go, and nodded to Krem to stay as the rest of the Chargers rose and left the room with him.

“Is all this necessary?” Stitches asked as they walked back out of the Chantry. “She isn’t really mercenary anymore.”

Bull nodded, ducking under the door. “Yes, it is. She’s scared and alone with a bunch of humans who know nothing about her. The ceremony will settle her down. It’s something familiar, a piece of home that they can’t provide for her.”

Stitches hummed, and they went to get their things.

oOo

The stand was small but quiet, safely out of the way, and somehow she had found rugs for them. They knelt, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen all clearly uneasy to one side, with Krem, Skinner, and Rocky on the other. Dorian knelt behind Bull on his bad side, a subtle warning to the Inquisition. Herah poured the tea with shaking hands, and they drank. It was elfroot, a far cry from the red tea of mere months ago, but it helped.

“The Iron Bull, I am both honored and ashamed,” she said when they had finished it. He waited as she swallowed hard, closing her eyes. “I am very alone, and wrote to you in a panic. I trust the Chargers, and there are no other companies with Qunari south of Nevarra now. I know that I have been childish, running to the first familiar face I can find, but please forgive me for this, as I- I am very afraid these days. The Inquisition is recently formed, and I'm still being called Andraste's Herald. It's a complicated time.”

Josephine looked like she wanted to get up and hug her, and Cullen looked like he’d been punched. Bull bowed, deeper than necessary.

“You cannot be blamed for this,” he said gently as he rose. “I’m glad you reached us when you did. We owe you a great debt, not merely in money.” He reached back, and Dorian took his hand, smiling at her. “We are very grateful.”

She teared up, her lips trembling, and she took a deep breath to get back under control. “Thank you, The Iron Bull.” Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. He nodded approvingly. “I open the negotiations between The Inquisition and The Bull’s Chargers.”

oOo

It was a good contract, and when they finished hashing out the details, Bull told her how proud he was and promptly got cried on for near twenty minutes. He had the sneaking suspicion that this was going to be happening quite a lot in his future, but he didn’t feel too bad about it. After getting the story out of her about how she’d been found, the first fight at the breach, and everything else, he was frankly relieved that she was in as good of shape as she was.

She was taking to leadership well, listening with the unshakeable patience of an inventor as decisions were made, squabbles were sorted out, and demands were made of her. More than once he watched her slow down, take a deep breath, square her shoulders, and walk away with an expression of immovable peace. Even the Chantry were taken aback at her polite, careful speeches, and charmed by her bright laugh and tender heart. 

They set up camp just outside Haven’s walls after one night in a rather cramped shack, within the boundaries marked out for the fighters. The long tent that was the Chargers main home was a quick set up, and the wall a relief against the cold. The main body of their force set up across from them in neat lines in long tents, each with two people from each of the five sections except for the last, a group of five instead of ten that were hyper specialized. They worked well as small, balanced squads, and lived, ate, and fought together to keep them bound tight as blood. Only in the largest battles did they split to their sections.

Krem and Dorian both shivered constantly, their furs only doing so much to keep them from the wind. For Dorian who’d spent the last two years comfortably installed in heated rooms, this was obvious torture.

Bull sat on his camp stool as Dorian paced, shivering and looking like he wanted nothing more than to go throw fireballs at the snow. “You doing okay?”

‘Cold,’ was the sign he got in response. Dorian looked at him with a slightly miserable glower, and Bull nodded.

“We’ll go see about killing some things for some good hides, or buying some. Nights are gonna be nasty cold.” Dorian whined softly, and the tent was suddenly much warmer. Bull raised an eyebrow, and Dorian mulishly stuck out his chin. “Really?”

‘COLD.’

Bull chuckled, shaking his head. “Delicate little hothouse flower, you are.” He rose, stretching. “All right, I think it might be about time to start training. Show off to that other lot, let them see what you can do so they don’t try anything funny.”

Dorian hesitated, and signed, ‘If they touch me I can hurt them?’

“Of course you can,” he said quietly, sliding a crooked finger under Dorian’s chin to lift his head when he ducked it. “Hey now. Collar or not, you’re a free man. You decide who touches you, and who doesn’t.”

Dorian took his hand, kissing his knuckles. Dropping it, he signed, ‘Too good for me.’

Bull had to take a moment to remember to not be furious, that Dorian had spent several years being reminded over and over that he was owned, a play thing for someone else. “Nah,” he said, forcing his voice to be light. “I think I’m just about the right amount of good.”

oOo

Cullen wasn’t sure how to feel about the Chargers, up until they showed up for training. The Iron Bull was a good teacher, a soothing presence to the younger recruits, and all of his people were well trained. Except for the mage, who stayed carefully away from any sort of contact until the others coaxed him into the fray. He didn’t carry a staff, just a very businesslike glaive with red ribbons attached to it, and his clothing was all light, no heavy armor to be seen. Some of it looked Dalish. _Majestic_ was the first word that came to mind, with his handsome face and golden jewelry. He was obviously The Iron Bull’s… _something_. A slave, perhaps? He wore a thick scarf around his neck, hiding any hint of a collar. A consort? He was dressed well enough for it.

He watched as the mage was paired up with a nasty looking older Templar covered in scars, ready to jump in if something went wrong. The Templar was bulky, though he was just as unhealthy as Cullen since quitting the lyrium. He watched the mage with more curiosity than anything, patient as the mage paced nervously back and forth.

Finally, the mage took a steadying breath and readied his glaive, nodding to the templar. In a heartbeat, the man charged.

The energy blast really should have been expected, but it still threw the man back with a clatter of armor, and no less than three barriers slammed up around the mage, flames licking in a circle around him. Cullen hurried to stand in front of him, hands up in surrender as the Templar slowly got back to his feet.

“Easy,” he said softly as The Iron Bull made his way over. “No one wants to hurt you.” The mage was wide eyed, transfixed on him and twitching as he carefully set his sword down. “See?” 

The flames died, but the barriers stayed firmly in place. Cullen waved at the others to continue as he carefully made his way forward, speaking low and calm. “I know, it’s hard to let your guard down. Do you know where you are?”

The mage slowly nodded, blinking a few times as he nervously glanced around. The Iron Bull stayed back, just barely within eyesight.

“Good, that’s good. Do you remember who I am?”

Another jerky nod, and one of the barriers shattered. He smiled, keeping his body language open despite every instinct screaming at him to smite the mage in front of him before he could do any damage. That wasn’t how it worked any more, and he had to keep himself in line. 

“Dorian,” The Iron Bull rumbled softly, stepping into the mage- Dorian, apparently, Dorian’s line of sight. Dorian jerked, another barrier falling.

“There you go,” Cullen said, his voice soft and calm. “Did you ever learn the focus mantras?”

Another stiff nod.

“You know the one about the center of the soul in the mind?”

A slow nod, and Cullen watched as Dorian began mouthing the words, his body slowly relaxing and the last barrier dissolving away. He kept mouthing the words as The Iron Bull came up, carefully cupping his face to look at him.

“Panic attack?” he asked quietly, and The Iron Bull nodded.

“Looks like it. He’s great in a fight, very level headed, but I should have realized that this would be a bit too much for him so soon. It’s one thing to be running on adrenaline and certain death, and another to have to face old fears.” He carefully pried the glaive from Dorian’s hands, letting him step in close. “I’ll be back in a bit. Krem!”

The lieutenant nodded at him, throwing a man double his size across the training grounds. “Got it, Chief.”

Cullen let them go, and the Templar Dorian had been intended to spar with came up, looking thoughtful. “Should have seen that coming,” he said. “Kinloch had a bunch like that, but there were more at Ostwick. Get them in the right place, they’ll defend you until the end of time, but someone coming at them with no fight around them? All they’ll do is retreat because they know bad shit happens when they fight.”

“You were at Kinloch?” Cullen asked.

“Started in Ostwick, got transferred there. Left when I realized that no one was going to do a damn thing about all the sexual abuse going on, no matter how hard I fought it.” He sighed, frowning. “Don’t think it’s the Qunari, though. For one thing, his men wouldn’t stand for it.”

Cullen wanted to be sick, but managed a nod.

oOo

He ran into Dorian later that day by the lake, and nearly got a face full of fire for it. He yelped, dropping his laundry and ducking. The fire hit the snow, and he sat up to see Dorian looking at him in horror, his hands clapped to his mouth.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly, sitting up. “I should have made more noise.”

Dorian waved that off, mouthing, ‘sorry, so sorry’ at him. He shrugged, gathering his tub and washboard. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He walked down to him, not surprised to see a small fire going and a hole in the ice. “Mind if I share your fire and water?”

Dorian nodded, sliding back, and he carefully filled the first bucket of water. He was surprised when Dorian reached over, holding it, and stared as it started to boil. He poured the bucket in, and added more until it was full and steaming. Dorian heated it with a shy smile, and went back to scrubbing at a stain on his own laundry, which seemed to be proving surprisingly stubborn. It was also a pile of massive red and green in awkward stripes.

“Are those The Iron Bull’s?” he asked as he picked up his soap and some extremely sad looking socks. Dorian chuckled, the first real noise he’d heard from him, and nodded. “Ah. They did look a little big for you.”

Dorian grinned, dunking the soaped fabric and scrubbing it against the washboard.

“You’re not from Ferelden, are you?” he asked, and Dorian shook his head. “Orlais?”

Dorian shuddered, aggressively shaking his head this time.

“Oh, sorry. Nevarra?” Another shake, slightly amused. Cullen hummed. “Well, you’re not Free Marcher or Rivaini, and definitely not the Anderfels, so… Tevinter?”

Dorian smiled wryly, and nodded. Cullen whistled softly, squeezing the water out of his socks. “You’re quite a ways from home. Do you like it here?”

Dorian shrugged, his mouth twisting. He leaned down, pleased when the spot disappeared. He focused for a minute and the pants were dry. He folded them neatly, setting them aside. Cullen stared, feeling inordinately jealous. Dorian caught him at it, rolling his eyes and beckoning for him to hand over the socks. He did without complaint, marveling at the dry fabric when Dorian handed them back. “Well that’s useful. I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”

Dorian made a complicated gesture then stopped, sighing in frustration.

“Sorry,” Cullen said awkwardly. “I don’t understand sign.” Dorian shrugged eloquently, picking up the next piece of laundry. 

They worked in silence for a while, Cullen absently humming under his breath as he scrubbed. Dorian was quiet and calm, and Cullen was about to ask him something new when he reached up, pulling off the cheery red scarf he wore to reveal a leather collar with glowing purple runes on his throat. Cullen froze, staring at it in horror as Dorian began cleaning the scarf.

“Dorian?” 

The man looked up, frowning when he saw the stricken look on his face. He cocked his head, curious.

“Dorian, are you a slave?”

His expression cleared, changing to understanding, and he shook his head. He touched the collar a little sadly, running his fingers over the runes. They brightened in response, glowing harshly before fading back.

“But you have a collar,” Cullen said, slowly, a little confused. “Did you escape?”

Dorian wobbled his hand. Yes and no, then.

“Did The Iron Bull take you away?”

A nod, that time, and he sat back on his haunches as Dorian emptied his laundry tub into the icy water and blasted it dry with a bit of fire. The clothes, now dry and folded, migrated their way in. Cullen did the same, his things now finished, and Dorian graciously heated his as well. It was strange to see magic used in such a mundane way, but he said nothing about it as he packed his things back up and together they headed for Haven. They were met on the road by a rather frantic Krem, who sighed in relief and hurried over.

“Dorian, please tell someone where you’re going before you just run off.” 

Dorian scowled, and Cullen obligingly took his tub so he could sign at Krem.

“Grim doesn’t count, Dorian! The Chief’s pretending he’s not freaked out, but he’s not pretending very well.”

Dorian looked more repentant at that, and Krem sighed. 

“Just… go. He’s in your tent, probably working on reports. I’ll deal with the laundry, which- thank you. I know you’re trying.”

Dorian seemed suitably chastened, and Cullen silently handed the laundry to Krem. Dorian headed away, and Cullen called out, before he lost his nerve. “Dorian?” The man turned, raising an eyebrow. “Thank you. You didn’t have to help, and I’m grateful.”

Dorian smiled, shaking his head fondly, and waved before heading towards the walls. Krem gave him a slow look before nodding and continuing briskly on, leaving Cullen standing by himself with a pile of laundry, wondering what exactly he’d just managed to do.

oOo

The soft open and shut of the tent flap didn’t surprise Bull, who was writing while he sat on their rather massive camp cot. It was practically a bed, and covered in new, freshly purchased furs. “I was wondering when you were going to come back.”

There was a sigh, and he turned to see Dorian shrug, pulling his scarf off. He tried not to grimace at the sight of the collar, glowing that angry purple. ‘I did laundry.’

“Well, that’s good. It was getting pretty rank.” He put his monocle away, setting his writing desk down and capping the ink bottle. Dorian shuddered delicately, nodding. 

‘C-u-l-l-e-n sat with me. Did laundry. Did not kill me, so probably good.’ He shrugged, coming to sit next to Bull. ‘Templar, though. Trust him, might get hurt. Dangerous.’

“Yeah?” Bull wrapped an arm around him, and Dorian nodded into his shoulder as he closed his eyes, sighing. “Well that sucks. You feeling better, though? After this morning?”

Dorian nodded, shrinking a little bit. ‘Felt like being caught.’

“Shit. We’d better find a way to avoid that, then. You don’t have any trouble with the rest of the Chargers, right?”

Dorian shook his head. ‘Safe. Know them.’

“Hmm.” Bull carefully nudged him up and laid down. Dorian smiled, carefully climbing on the large cot and curling up next to him. Bull wrapped an arm over his waist, sighing. “Guess we’ll just have to be careful with you. Have you train with them instead of the soldiers.”

Dorian sighed, his face falling, and Bull gently stroked his arm as he threw it over his stomach, clearly tired and upset. Bull carefully kissed the top of his head, and Dorian sighed restively, tracing random patterns over his skin. Bull felt a wave of possessive desire wash over him and firmly squashed it, struggling to keep the horror down. There was a man in his bed with a damn collar on. He couldn’t afford to croon things like “mine” at him. The collar already thought he was its master, he wouldn’t have Dorian thinking anything close to the same. Dorian was free to do as he wanted, and that included people who weren’t Bull.

Which wasn’t to say that they didn’t fuck. They did, on rare, beautiful occasions that made Bull consider the beautiful world of monogamy because Dorian was just so damn good at what he did. Watching Dorian tilt his head back in wordless pleasure while he buried himself to the hilt was a gift he relished. When Dorian figured out his thing for rope, he came back with yards of silk ties and soft, beautiful rope in a riot of colors and let Bull wrap him up like a present, always with a backup plan to get him out if it went bad. He liked rough, he liked being marked, he was enthusiastic and beautiful and hearing those sweet little whines while he rode The Bull was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. But he wasn’t Bull’s.

And he never could be.

“Go to sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

Dorian smiled, kissed his chest, and drifted off without noticing how Bull tightened the arm around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look a kind of plot has appeared.


	9. Blonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, as you may have guessed, there are blonds.
> 
> Also in this chapter is Bull mistakenly trying to urge Dorian out of a box he's quite comfortable in. There is also a very confused, but very fond Grim, who just loves his friends a lot. Even when they're really weird.

Herah Adaar took her afternoon tea with The Iron Bull and her advisers, in the mercenary style.

It was something that they were all uncertain about. The Herald of Andraste, sitting on increasingly beautiful rugs with the rest of them, making quiet conversation while slowly sipping a variety of teas, seemed a bit odd at first. Cullen seemed particularly bemused by it, but Leliana enjoyed their little hour of still reflection. It was pleasant, to sit and relax for a bit. Nothing could disturb their waters, and it allowed them- or rather, forced them- to get to know each other and learn to cooperate. And it did the troops good, to see their Herald humbly go fill buckets from the lake to brew the tea. No matter what, she took the time to do it herself, and slowly the teas grew sweeter, more flavorful as she learned, talking to the healers, the cooks, and the Chantry sisters about the best way to do so. 

Adaar, as it turned out, didn’t know very much in the way of mercenary etiquette, and between Josephine and Iron Bull was developing some impressive, on the fly manners. The Iron Bull was an excellent teacher, that was clear, and he was a calming influence on her. She looked up to him like a child starved of a parents affection, desperate for approval even when he gave it so gently. It worried Cassandra, some, but as she watched him patiently re-explain the difference between Antivan and Nevarran tea ceremonies for the fifth time, she felt some of the fear ease. The Iron Bull meant no harm to her, at least, and he was big enough to bash in the head of anyone who tried.

Cullen treated her like a sister, and Cassandra felt her worries ease even more when she saw him teasing her, and her indignantly responding until they were both laughing, her springing curls not out of place by his. They stood at the same height, something that greatly amused him, and aggravated her. He indulged her, surprisingly enough, treating her like she was a wonder to be cherished. Leliana was kind as well, offering advice sincerely and doing her best to explain Andraste to a very fascinated but extremely confused Herah when they got to talking.

Cassandra sipped at her tea a week after the Chargers arrival, and marveled at the changes.

“I think it’s time we head out to The Hinterlands,” Herah announced, and the room quieted. She bit her lip, swallowing hard. “I… I want to find Mother Giselle. We’ve been gathering our strength here, arming our warriors and settling in for the long haul, but we need the Chantry. Or the Templars, whichever will listen. If I can make peace between the mages and Templars I will, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. Mother Giselle could help us, you said?”

The group nodded. She swallowed hard.

“Then we’ll leave in the morning tomorrow. The Hinterlands are quite a bit away, but I think we should make the trip just fine.”

“I’ll send the scouts tonight,” Cullen said quietly. She nodded, and went bright pink as he carefully bowed, adding, “Kithshok.”

oOo

The send off was quiet, and only Krem and Dorian came of the Chargers. Bull wasn’t surprised. His merry band of misfits hated separating from him, Krem worst of all, and they hated watching him leave the most. The rest had said their goodbyes the night before.

Dorian was panicking, but trying his best to hide it as the horses were saddled. Bull ran a soothing hand over his cheek, taking a moment to admire the cloak Dorian had fashioned out of some rather ugly old black and gold curtains that looked quite striking on him. The ruff of fur, wolf, was a painstakingly stitched addition, and the buckle one scavenged from Krem’s last destroyed armor. Trim for the arm slits came in the form of more scavenged pieces, these ones trim from an Orlesian dress that had been left for the rag pickers. “Such a little peacock,” he said quietly, and Dorian let out a quiet, pleading noise that almost broke him. 

Krem politely walked away to give them some space, and Bull gently slid his fingers into the hood to lift the collar, easing the burden on Dorian’s neck. Dorian’s lips trembled.

“You’re going to be just fine,” he said quietly. “You’re safe here. If you get at all scared, you tell Grim or Krem. They’ll stay with you. I know you have a hard time sleeping in the pile with them, Grim would be more than happy to come sleep with you. Stitches kicks, and the rest of them snore. And if you want to experiment a little, see if you’re interested in what he has to offer, you can go right ahead and do that. I won’t be mad at all.” 

‘Scared,’ Dorian signed, biting his lip. ‘Gone long?’

“Nah. Hopefully a week at the most. Maybe longer, but that’s not very likely.” He didn’t miss how Dorian hadn’t said a word about his suggestion of bed partners, and didn’t shift away as Dorian’s hands came up to clutch his wrists. “We’ll be doing a lot of hiking.”

Dorian let go of him, signing, ‘Belong to Krem for now?’

“You don’t belong to anyone,” he said, struggling to keep the pain out of his voice. Some days were like this, Dorian floundering without clear direction, desperate for a rock to cling to. Normally he could bear the load for him, but today he would have to let go. “Krem’s always in charge when I’m gone. He’ll keep them all in line, and you too. I want you to work with Dalish on those fire spells, all right?”

Dorian nodded, clearly uncertain.

“Hey,” Bull said quietly, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “Remember. We are not things.”

Dorian’s eyes blurred with tears, and Bull smiled as he knocked their foreheads gently together, reaching up to cover Bull’s hands with his own.

He pressed a soft kiss to his forehead in a silent goodbye, and let the collar fall back around Dorian’s neck. Somehow, it felt like he’d collared Dorian all over again.

oOo

Grim was being watched.

He knew this, Krem knew this, the troops knew this, and yet no one quite knew what to make of it. Dorian was prowling around the troop of ten mages they had, directing them here and there, adjusting staff positions. His eyes kept coming back to Grim, though, a frown crossing his face along with confusion. 

Cullen emerged from the palisade, reading over something. He waved vaguely in their direction as he headed for the blacksmith and Dorian turned to eye him, even more confused by this apparent show of friendship. One of the mages timidly tapped his arm, making him jump.

“What’s up with him?” Rocky asked when the broke for lunch, Dorian and Dalish working on fire spells for a little longer. Krem shrugged, baffled. 

“Dunno. Chief pulled him away to talk to him and when he left Dorian got all pensive and quiet. Quieter than normal, I mean.”

Grim watched Dorian curiously as he approached, and Dorian hesitated before going to sit by him. He raised an eyebrow, and Dorian shook his head, pulling his legs up to his chest. He shrugged, going back to his food. If Dorian wanted to be quiet, he could be quiet. It seemed like he was working through something, and Grim wasn’t going to try and mess with that. Dorian was complicated, and still healing.

He’d talked to Bull once about it, on one of his rare verbal days. He’d asked about why The Iron Bull, notorious for bedding anything with legs, had given it up for him. 

Bull had laughed at that. “Well, I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? Kick him out of my bed, and I lose his trust. He needs to know that I’m there no matter what. That _we_ are there no matter what, and we’re not going to force him. He’s Tevene, sex is complicated for them to start with. Now, even more so. But it’s worth it, for him.”

He thought he understood, now, and gently bumped Dorian’s shoulder with his own. Dorian smiled a little, bumping him back, and the tension on his shoulders eased.

oOo

Dorian found him after dinner, and Grim wasn’t even surprised when he nervously fumbled out asking him to stay with him. He simply nodded, collected his things, and moved in.

Dorian was waiting, and Grim took his time to strip down, watching to see what would happen. Nothing, it seemed. Dorian seemed torn between watching him with fascinated eyes and staring in desperate determination at the ceiling. He changed into loose clothes and thick socks, and climbed into bed when Dorian slowly nodded. The bed was made for a Qunari, meaning there was plenty of space for him to stretch out. Dorian stayed on his side for all of five minutes before he was rolling into the space at Grim’s side, throwing an arm over him. Grim wrapped an arm around him, and Dorian sighed in quiet relief. 

Dorian slept quickly, clutching him like if he woke up he’d be gone, and Grim gently stroked his hair as he drifted off as well.

They spent most of the week like that, though Dorian did spend what seemed to be one very sleepless night alone, just to see if he could. 

On the morning of the eighth day, they slept in. Faintly, the noise of singing could be heard from where the Chantry had gathered for worship, but the rest of the world was quiet and warm. Dorian traced random patterns on his chest, his head nestled on Grim’s shoulder, and he dozed in and out of wakefulness. He slowly woke as Dorian’s hand stilled, resting on his heart.

They rested together in calm reflection, still and unmoving as they listened. The faint crunch of snow outside made Dorian stiffen, and Grim sighed softly as the flap was pushed open and The Iron Bull stepped inside, smiling at the sight of them. Dorian made to get up and he gently pulled him back down.

“We just got back,” he said, dropping his bag in the corner. “And what a nice thing to come home to.”

Dorian smiled, still a little sleepy, and Grim snorted as Bull leaned down, kissing both their foreheads.

“So, everything go well?” he asked, stepping back to gather his bathing gear. Grim nodded, gently patting Dorian’s shoulder, and Dorian quickly signed something that Grim couldn’t catch. Bull hummed in response, looking slightly concerned, but shook it off. “Good. Herah wants to heat the lake so everyone can bathe, which should be a sight to see. Do you want to come?”

Dorian perked up and jolted out of bed like someone had hit him with a lightning bolt. He was out of the tent before Bull had even finished with his things, laughing in joy.

Grim shook his head fondly, sitting up, and Bull gave him a slow, contemplative look.

“Did you fuck?”

Grim stared, and shook his head.

“Hmm.”

And with that cryptic statement, The Iron Bull left to bathe.

oOo

The soak in a fireball blasted lake was a bit odd, but everyone relished the hot water, no matter what station they were. Chantry sisters and mages stripped down right along Templars and the Chargers to jump in the water. It was hot as a sauna, and Dorian draped himself shamelessly on Bull when he sat on a rock near the center of the lake, taking his time to scrub the dirt and grime from the road away.

“So, have a good week?”

Dorian shrugged, tugging on Bull’s horns to get him to lean down so he could better scrub the horns. There was old blood there, and he grimaced at the coppery scent. ‘You reek,’ he signed before going back to work.

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be sunshine and daisies.”

Dorian snorted, finishing with one horn and starting on another as Herah floated past, her curls just as wild in the water as out. Bull waited patiently for him to finish, and smiled when he pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Wringing out the rag, Dorian signed, ‘It reminds me of bath house in Tevinter. All s-t-e-a-m and bare.’

“Did you spend much time in them?”

Dorian scowled at him, gently smacking the side of his head. ‘Rude.’

“I thought that was Solas.”

Each of them had a name in sign, and Solas' name sign was 'rude' with an added S on it.

‘R-u-d-e,’ he finger spelled, draping the rag on Bull’s shoulder. ‘Not a toy.’

“I know, I know. Just curious.”

Dorian huffed, but settled down when Bull grabbed a floating wicker basket of supplies and stole some shampoo. He let his hair be lathered up, relishing the sensation, and crooned quietly as Bull took his time getting it completely clean. Months of living on the road had not been kind to it, and while he managed here and there, it was nice to actually have someone who cared about him cleaning him up. Delacourt had taken a perverse pleasure in keeping his hair long and devoting days to personally washing Dorian up, something he detested, but Bull wasn’t cruel about it, didn’t pull or make any demands. 

At least, not in public, and not the kind that Dorian didn’t very, _very_ happy oblige.

He dunked his hair, rinsing it thoroughly, and with a puff of heat, dried it. Bull laughed as it puffed up, awkward and ungainly without his products, and he splashed him.

By the time they eventually got out, the whole camp smelled immeasurably better, and everyone was cheerier. There had also been the group wide treat of seeing the (very, very fit, Maker be praised) recruits climb out, including their lovely commander. Cullen was fairly heavily scarred, and blushed rather beautifully. Dorian chuckled as he climbed out, a dry and more importantly _warm_ towel waiting for him. Cullen had pulled on what was apparently some sort of traditional Fereldan skirt, and Dorian eyed him curiously as he dragged shirt, pants, and coat on. Bull was surprisingly quick, given his knee, and only ended up giving an eyeful to a rather fascinated Chantry sister, who hurried off when he grinned at her.

‘Is that normal?’ He asked Bull, nodding at Cullen’s outfit. Bull promptly whistled. Cullen jumped and almost fell in the lake to the amusement of his charges.

“Commander, what’s that you’re wearing?”

“Oh.” Cullen flashed a smile as he tugged on his boots. His curls were wild, not unlike Herah’s. “It’s called a kilt. They’re not worn very much anymore, but for quite a long time they were standard dress for most of Ferelden. I’m afraid I need to do laundry again, so I’m stuck with this until the evening at the earliest.”

“Good look on you,” Bull teased, and Dorian smacked his stomach as he draped an arm over Dorian’s shoulders. “Have a good evening.” 

“Same to you, The Iron Bull. And you, Dorian.”

Dorian waved, wrapping an arm around Bull’s back to help support him. His leg, while markedly less damaged than his normal excursions, definitely needed tending and Dorian wasn’t certain they’d make it all the way back to the tents without a bit of a break. He was right, but they made good time, and Bull groaned as he carefully sank onto the bed. 

“Well. That made for a good mid day event, don’t you think?”

Dorian snorted, going to light the lantern and hang it up. He closed the tent flap and increased the heat, making Bull sigh happily. 

“Fuck, that’s nice. Temperature control, that’s a gift and a half.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, kneeling down to get a better grip on Bull’s knee. It was bruised, not so bad as normal, and he heated one hand while opening a salve with the other.

“So… Are you interested in Cullen?” Bull asked. Dorian gave him an incredulous stare, sitting back on his heels.

‘Cullen is straight,’ he signed, kissing a particularly nasty bruise on his knee before rubbing some of the salve on it. That done, he added, ‘Not interested in me.’

“Doesn’t mean you’re not interested in him.”

Dorian sat back again, frowning up at him. This had gone on long enough, and he was starting to fear. ‘Do you want me gone? Am I not enough for you? Have I don’t something to upset you?’

“What? No, that’s not it at all.” He reached down, frowning, and Dorian reluctantly took his hand. “I just thought you might want someone other than me in ou- in your bed. He’s not a bad looking man. The two of you would be gorgeous together.”

Dorian stared at him, flabbergasted.

“What?”

‘First Grim, now Cullen. Do you want to watch me with blonds? Is that it?’ he signed, baffled.

Bull backed out a laugh, and pulled him easily up into his lap. Dorian straddled him, still confused. “No. I just thought you might want to broaden your horizons. It’s been almost seven months since we rescued you, I thought you might want to try being with other people.”

Ah ha. That explained it. Dorian knew how to handle this. He squirmed, biting his lip and looking up under his lashes. ‘Not really interested in Cullen.' He hesitated, then added, 'Do you want me to stay with the Chargers so you can bed other people?’

Dorian had one hell of a game face, and he knew it.

Bull gently ran a hand through his hair and… that was unexpected. He had thought it would be laughed off, a simple yes or no, but it seemed not. He lifted his head, and Bull looked him in the eye. “I’ll admit,” he said quietly, “it’s a little weird for me, just sleeping with one person. Monogamy’s not exactly my strong suit. But you make it worth it. Sure, there’s other things I’d like to do with you, but I’m not going to give you up just because I happen to like a few different buttons pushed. It’s pretty damn rare to find a perfect sexual match up, I can tell you that, and you come damn close.”

Oh. Well. That was unexpected. Dorian sat back, a little concerned. ‘But you should sleep with others, if I’m not what you want.’

Bull chuckled, his expression fond. “Not a matter of wants, Dorian. This is a matter of _need_. And my need to see you safe, happy, and protected _or_ protecting overwhelms any want I might have for more… aggressive activities. Three months without, as you’ll remember.”

Dorian reached up, his heart swelling as he stroked Bull’s scarred face. Bull caught his hand, kissing his exposed palm.

“But as it stands right now,” he said, his voice heavy, “one day I _will_ be recalled to Par Vollen. And I’m not willing or able to see you treated like we treat the _saarebas_. I fear magic, you know that, but I don’t fear _you_. And I won’t see you unhappy when that day comes.”

Dorian sat up, gently kissing him with the softest sound of mourning, trying to draw the fear and pain away like one would from a wound. Bull clung to him, and Dorian wished he could simply cut away the aching pain from his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank not only the Maker, but also Andraste for siriusdraws' Cullen in traditional Fereldan attire, by which I mean a kilt. Also Hawke in a kilt. Just kilts. Fucking praise.


	10. Complications

Herah took Cassandra, Solas, and Varric when she finally left for Val Royeaux. With her she took a veritable stack of letters to the creditors with the Merchants Guild, letters of introduction to all of the Mercenary Captains that operated out of Val Royeaux, and a request from Dorian for another pair of Bull's signature pants but in a better color scheme of coordinated greens. Bull just rolled his eyes.

He watched as she left, waving when she looked back, and Dorian chuckled at his side. He looked down, and Dorian signed, ‘You have a daughter now.’

“Oh, do I?” Bull draped his arm on Dorian’s shoulders, grinning when he waved to her, and ignored the warmth that seemed to have sprung up in his heart. “Well, she’d better get used to having a step-father as well.”

Dorian laughed, leaning into him. They watched until the group was out of sight, and began making their slow way back to the palisade walls. It was a crisp day, closing in on Midsummer but still bitterly cold at night, and it was doing neither of them any good. Bull’s ankle and knee ached constantly, and Dorian had a difficult time adjusting to the climate. At Bull’s insistence, he now wore the fur lined cloak over his normal coat, effectively bundling him very tight against the cold.

“Any bright ideas on how to spend the day?” Bull asked as they reached the gate. "Besides going at it or training. Those are almost a given.”

Dorian snorted. ‘Insatiable.’

“You know me so well.”

They meandered through the crowd, Dorian tucked in his normal spot against Bull’s side, under his arm. They made quite a pair, and the crowds flowed around them like a river around a boulder. More people had arrived from the Hinterlands, including Chantry folk, and Bull didn’t miss the suspicious looks they gave Dorian. He didn’t seem very bothered by it, but he did rearrange his scarf more tightly around the collar a few times. They turned, walking up the steps past Threnn, who gave them a somewhat awkward smile. She was a rather prickly woman, but seemed fond enough of the Chargers to try and be nice. Dorian tapped his side, and Bull looked down.

‘We could help her. Go find things. Get everyone out of camp. Hunt.’

“There’s an idea,” Bull agreed, and they detoured to get a list of needed items from her.

It was a long, but ultimately productive day. They returned triumphant, Puff and Princess hitched to a sledge that Stitches drove with ease across the still lingering snow with fresh meat, and a new logging stand set up in the woods. Krem rode with him on the sledge, but Dorian rode on Bull’s warhorse, sidesaddle to better balance the saddle out with the saddlebags loaded to one side, looking quite the picture with a soft blue scarf drawn up to veil his face and his hood over his head. He tried not to feel too much like the conquering warlord, but sliding down to gently lift Dorian down while he wore his finery and others looked on with a little bit of awe didn’t help. That Dorian delicately stood on his tiptoes, pressing soft fingers into his chest as he leaned up to kiss him with the damn scarf in the way was just the icing on the cake.

Threnn thanked them deeply, and Bull did his best not to hurry Dorian back down to their tent. He didn’t quite succeed in being subtle, if the way everyone was looking at him was anything to go by. Dorian laughed when he was pushed inside, pulling the heat up with a wave of his hand and lighting the lantern with another.

‘Hail the conquering hero,’ Dorian teased, pulling off the cloak and hanging it up over a chair before ditching his coat as well. Bull groaned, watching him helplessly. His hands twitched, and Dorian flicked a finger up. ‘No. No touching until I say.’

“Of course.”

Dorian grinned, looking far too pleased with himself in one of the comfortable loose shirts and his leathers. He’d bought different, sleeker boots a few weeks previous, and had them recobbled to fit his feet perfectly. He looked like a beautiful, graceful princeling, if not for the damn collar. He’d kept the scarf on as well, and the kohl made his eyes gleam. Others had taken to wearing it, learning how to make it from him, but Dorian had it down to an art form.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bull sighed, and Dorian pulled the scarf off, stepping in so it could drape over Bull’s neck and he could pull him down for a sweet, lazy kiss. 

When they pulled back he signed, ‘Should I let you tie me up? Cast silencing spells on the tent?’

Bull groaned. “ _Please_.”

Dorian grinned, pulling him down to kiss him again, and Bull had just hooked his fingers in Dorian’s leathers when there was the rap of knuckles against a post that acted as a knocker just outside the tent. They both sighed in disappointment, reluctantly backing away, and Dorian kicked off his boost to go lounge on the bed while Bull stepped outside.

It was Leliana, who grinned wickedly at him.

“Red,” he said wryly. Inside the tent, Dorian laughed. “You have the best timing.”

“Oh, I am certain.” She handed over a bundle of papers for him. “Codes for you to break. They seem to be Ben-Hassrath, and directed to Herah. At least, that is who they’re officially listed for.”

Curious, he pulled the first open. It was a fairly standard cipher, one he had used before, and he translated in his head.

“It’s from Shokrakar, the captain of her company. Looks like Company Valo-kas were hired to watch the conclave, and a lot of them haven’t returned.” He snorted when he saw one line in particular. “Your name is Adaar. You’re Vashoth. You didn’t get paid for getting blown up. Shokrakar, Shokrakar. Figures.” He rolled the letter back up. “Given the fact that they have a former Ben-Hassrath in their ranks, I’m sure she was taught ciphers and code breaking, if only for emergencies like this. She’ll want to see it when she gets back.”

“Good to know. Did you know the Ben-Hassrath agent?”

Her eyes were far too knowing.

“Yes,” he said, swallowing down the echo of terror and desire to please that welled up whenever he thought of Hissrad and his tired, sad eyes. “I did.”

She nodded, leaving him, and Dorian beckoned him back to bed with none of the teasing from earlier. He sighed, kicking off his own boots and climbing in under the quilt. Dorian sat up, stroking his cheek as he looked down, concerned.

“Didn’t mean to break the mood,” he said quietly, and Dorian shrugged, leaning down to kiss him.

‘Better to be comfortable. Know I’m here.’ He wriggled down so he was in his normal place, tucked under Bull’s arm on his blind side. 

Bull sighed, absently reaching up to stroke Dorian’s neck. His fingers brushed the collar with ever pass, but Dorian simply hummed, nestling into him.

“Hey, Dorian…” he said, staring at the tent ceiling. “Whenever I have nightmares, no matter how bad, you never run. You don’t hardly move, you don’t look at me different, you just sit there and take whatever it is I do to you that time.” He had lost count of the times he’d woken up without the familiar, soothing jingle of Dorian’s decorative leather and bronze bracers to jar him from the memory, and either thrown himself out of bed or grabbed Dorian like it was his fault. “Why don’t you try and get away?”

Dorian was still for quite some time before sitting up and straddling him so he could see. He waited until Bull’s eye was firmly fixed on him, then began signing. ‘First master was the same. Bought to be companion, shock him out. Literally. Could use little pieces of lightning.’ He demonstrated with a tiny zap between his fingers, purple and quick. ‘He held me down. Pinned me. Was rough. Too rough, not you rough. No fight, no more strangling. Soon as I went limp he realized. Liked him. Just very scared all the time. Died a year in. Cried for five days, then sold.’

“Shit,” Bull breathed. Dorian never talked about his past masters. He would barely talk about Delacourt when pressed, let alone anyone else, or how long he’d been enslaved. For as long as they’d known each other, Dorian was still a very closed book. “I had no idea.”

Dorian shrugged. ‘Didn’t tell you. Didn’t want to. Now you know. And I know to wear jingle things. Should be better about it.’

“Shit,” Bull said again, and Dorian leaned down, kissing his chest.

‘No. Not your fault. Just taught to be this way.’ Dorian shrugged, and Bull sighed, holding his hips and running soothing circles around the still far too sharp bones there.

“Maybe we should get bells to put on my wrists instead,” he joked weakly, and Dorian let it go, quietly taking his hands to kiss each finger lovingly.

oOo

Mother Giselle had the potential to become a problem.

Bull considered her as he walked through the ranks of the Chargers, flicking his attention over all the sparring partners. Dorian had paired up with Rocky, an unusual mix that was a stretch from both of their usual styles. Mother Giselle was watching from the gate, her attention turning from the Chargers to the Templars and back again. Given how harsh Cullen was being with his own troops, he had the feeling that the good Commander didn’t much care for being watched. Her attention seemed to be mainly on Dorian and Krem, however, and that was not something he wanted in any situation. His lieutenant and- and _thing_ that wasn’t romantic aside from being monogamous weren’t people he wanted anyone’s eyes lingering too long on.

So, being the friendly neighborhood spy, he plastered on his most realistic smile and sauntered over to the gate. She looked up at him, inclining her head gracefully. He wondered idly how she wore her hair- tight to her scalp, perhaps in braids like tama’s favored? Or up, resting in that massive hat of hers?

“Revered Mother Giselle,” he said politely, nodding back. “You’re looking better than you have been.”

“It is good to be with more of my people again,” she said, smiling. “Though Roderick does try my nerves greatly.”

He laughed, nodding. “I know how that goes. It’s strange to see you out here with the troops. Are you here for any particular reason?” 

Mother Giselle shook her head, glancing at Krem, who was berating someone about their footwork. “I thought I might take the air. I was surprised when I saw the company you keep.”

He turned to look and, yeah, they did look a little odd. “Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “They’re a pretty rag tag bunch.” There was a soft boom and screech, and he sighed as he turned to see Dorian gesticulating wildly and Rocky making calming motions, soot all over them both. “ _Very_ rag tag.”

“Cremisius’ presence at the tavern is often a soothing influence in fights,” she said, frowning at Dorian. “But your… Dorian.”

“Just Dorian. He’s his own man,” Bull said firmly, his smile going a little sharp.

She nodded. “Indeed. He is not so calming. I will admit to being concerned for him.”

 _About_. About him, not for him. Bull made a mental note of that. It was amazing, the things people could say while meaning something else entirely.

“What for?” He leaned against the palisade walls, watching as Dalish performed a truly beautiful aerial right onto a Templars face, taking him down in a move that had Cullen whooping and asking eagerly for a repeat. The Templar looked like he was in love. Stitches, on the other hand, looked like he had just been possessed by a desire demon.

Mother Giselle smoothed her robes. “Dressing as he does, with the gold and the fine cloth, and in the styles he prefers… well. I suppose he is hardly surprised by the attention he gathers from around Haven.”

“ _I’d prefer it be from around Haven, where I can crush their windpipes if they hurt him, then back in Orlais where he would have been discarded like so much trash when his master tired of the slave whore_ ,” Bull said in perfect Orlesian, smiling politely. “ _But at least with Orlesian’s, they show you the knife before they stab your back. Good afternoon to you, Mother Giselle_.” He walked away to keep his temper from flaring, and felt eyes on him as he went.

That evening, he came into their tent to find Dorian holding his red pants, running his fingers over the soft material. It was the same pair he’d been wearing when they took him from Delacourt, now much repaired. He closed the ties, and carefully went to kneel in front of him. Dorian’s kohl had smeared some, and a dark track from a tear had slid down his face. 

“What happened?” he asked gently, and Dorian scrubbed at his face for a moment to regain his composure.

‘Just men being men. Everyone knows what I was.' He laughed wetly. ‘Whore. Slut. I have ears, if no voice. I hear them. But since I am yours, no one touches me. Too scared of what you would do. Not me. Not weak little me, collared mage.”

Bull took a few slow, deep breaths to keep from breaking everything in sight, and said calmly, “Would you like me to snap their necks?”

Dorian shook his head, holding the fabric close to him. ‘Just let me take care of you tonight. Yours. Alone. Worth it.’

He met Bull’s eye, and he was a little surprised at the fire burning behind it. Dorian was in pain, certainly, but pushing past it with a vengeance.

“Of course,” he said softly. “Whatever you want, Dorian.”

Later, after a round of entirely too rambunctious sex, Bull pinned him down and whispered praise into his ears until Dorian was choking down sobs, and the wounds began to heal.

oOo

Herah arrived back at Haven with two more people in tow. One was an elf, who had clearly never ridden before in her life, and who was chattering excitedly with Herah. The other- at first glance, Bull had honestly thought she might have been some particularly terrifying tamassran, sitting astride an inky black gelding with positively murderous eyes. Krem whistled low when he saw her.

“Oh shit. I know who she is.”

“Enlighten us,” Stitches said dryly, watching the procession down the road. 

“Madame de Fer. There were portraits of her in the markets in Val Royeaux. She’s the magical adviser to the Empress.” Krem straightened, sheathing his blades. Dorian shrank back, his eyes fixed on her. “Hey, Dorian, what is it?”

Bull frowned, and Dorian shook his head quickly, excusing himself from the group waiting at the gate and vanishing towards the outhouses. Bull watched him curiously, turning back when Herah urged her horse into a gallop to the gates. The group laughed as Bull caught the reins and she flung herself from the saddle to hug him.

“I got to talk to Captain Richelieu of Company Great-Axe,” she said excitedly. “He was in town! And told me that my manners were impressive! And agreed to look into the Anderfels business for 300 royals!”

“Good job, _kithshok imekari_ ,” he said fondly. “Who’re your new friends?”

Herah hurried over to catch the elf’s reins. “Sera, Sera! This is The Iron Bull.”

The elf scrambled down, looking vaguely seasick. “Shit, yeah, I know him. You’re the one with the dancer. The fancy poof with the bird hair and the shinies on him, yeah?” She grinned up at him, a bow on her back and a hair cut that looked like it had been done in the dark with dull scissors. “He get that shit leather off ‘im yet?”

Bull’s eyebrows shot up. “Red Jenny, aren’t you?”

“Man’s got eyes. Well. Eye,” she cackled, and Bull immediately knew that this had been an excellent plan. The Friends of Red Jenny were an excellent group to have on your side, or even just partly on your side. 

A shadow fell over them as the woman with the horns-that-weren’t-horns reached the gate. Herah walked around to carefully help her down. “This is Madame Vivienne de Fer. She’s the adviser to the Empress on all things magic. And an alchemist! She's going to teach me about more exploding things!”

Herah looked particularly odd in comparison to the sleek, very Qunari looking Madame Vivienne. Her curls sprung all over the place from riding, and her short, upright horns had nothing on the beautiful, graceful curves of that hat. Or horn covers. Whatever that was.

“So, Viv-“ he began, cheery enough.

Sharp eyes fixed firmly on him, enough to make his traitor companions take a cautious step back. “You will address me as Enchanter Vivienne, Court Mage to the Empire of Orlais, or Madame de Fer. _Not_ Viv.”

_It is entirely a terrible idea to be turned on in front of your adoptive daughter, Hissrad._

“Er. Right. Sorry. Ma’am.” He managed to get everything out, and she brightened a little. 

“ _Ma’am_. Yes, I quite like that. That is acceptable, darling.”

_Adoptive daughter, right there. No._

Sera made a noise of disgust echoed beautifully by Cassandra, and the group all headed into Haven proper. Dorian reemerged far later, and refused to comment.

oOo

Dorian did his best over the next few days to be everywhere their newest mage recruit was not. Vivienne terrified him, for some unknown reason. She wanted a look at the collar when she heard about it, and no amount of wheedling, pleading, or downright begging could get Dorian within the same building as her. He refused to go anywhere near her, even with the siren call of getting the collar off sooner. Bull couldn’t understand it. For months and months Dorian had been improving in leaps and bounds, laughing and joking where he could, comfortable with sex again, even ignoring the Chantry glaring at him to go and pray for the first time since they had arrived. Now he was near non verbal, fearful, and could barely be coaxed outside some days. Whenever Bull tried to get him to talk about it he just shook his head and held him tight, as if any moment he was going to be ripped away.

Cullen was a good excuse to get him outside. After he fell in the lake and almost froze solid in that armor of his, Dorian was religious about doing laundry with him, and so the laundry of the Templars at Skyhold suddenly became part of their chores near daily. Seeing the two arguing in yes and no answers while cleaning bloodstains out of uniforms was almost hilarious, particularly when Dorian started teaching him finger spelled sign so they could properly communicate. Cullen was abysmal at the actual shapes, but picked up the understanding quickly, “reading” Dorian’s words with ease even though his hands couldn’t shape to save his life. Bull supposed it was a hobby, and always made sure to spend hours cuddling Dorian afterwards, when he would start to shake and look up with terrified eyes from being outside.

Things came to a head on a rather dull Thursday afternoon a week after their return. 

“Both of us?” Bull clarified, and Leliana nodded. It was raining instead of snowing for once, and he’d invited her into the tent when she came to deliver a message. Dorian was huddled in the bed, peering sleepily out at them. He was covered up to his eyes. “Dorian, what do you think? Dinner would be nice.”

Dorian hesitated, looking at the paper in Bull’s hand and back to Leliana. Herah had invited them, very officially, to what they were calling an “Interlude”. Some sort of variation on the tea ceremony held daily, it seemed. 

“You don’t have to,” he said quietly, “but it’s been a few days since you did much socializing. I’d be right there with you the whole time.”

Dorian seemed torn, but slowly nodded. Hiding a sigh of relief, Bull turned back to Leliana, who smiled. 

“I shall let her know.”

She left after a bit of small talk, and Bull climbed in bed. Dorian curled up against his chest, tracing patterns over him. Bull tightened his arm around the much smaller body, and Dorian sighed quietly.

After some time like this, sitting up, he climbed out of bed and started to pace. Bull let him, watching as he spun around on his heel to go back the length of the tent. This continued for a good five minutes before Dorian threw his hands up and stalked over to start pulling clothes from their shared trunk. He dressed in his finest things, adjusting and readjusting until he was particularly lovely, and attached some decorative leather with little bells to his ankles over his caligae with a vindictive scowl. He’d chosen soft blue pants for the evening, and a white shirt that Krem had modified with a tight waist and tall collar. He left the collar visible, the runes flaring for a moment when he made an angry noise. His earrings were exchanged for the fanciest pair he had, the ones that matched the septum ring that he carefully put back in. Then he pulled out his makeup, walked over to the square of glass that Bull had given him as a very, very expensive six-months-free gift, and set to work.

By the time he finished, Bull thought privately that he should be installed in some museum, or never leave his bed. It was a toss up whether he wanted to show him off to the whole world, or never let anyone see him again.

“You look good,” he offered, and Dorian lifted his head as he straightened his shirt. There was a bit of the man he’d been missing.

‘I always look good.’

“You look even better than normal.” Bull carefully climbed out of bed, walking over to cup his face in his hand, and Dorian gave him a real smile, something far too rare these past few days. “So beautiful,” Bull murmured, kissing him tenderly, and Dorian sighed against his lips, reaching up to hold his wrist. He took his time, lavishing attention on him, and when he pulled back Dorian’s lips were slightly swollen and his cheeks flushed.

He grinned up at him, and Bull chuckled, fetching a nicer belt, smiling when Dorian hugged him from behind.

oOo

Dorian looked positively regal as he swept into the war room, where they were holding the Interlude. Bull felt rather unimpressive behind him, quite a feat considering how tall he was, but Herah was excited to see them both. They took their seats, Dorian protectively on Bull’s blind side with Solas on his left, and Cassandra to Bull’s right.

Vivienne was directly across from Dorian, and cocked her head when he leveled a cool, unimpressed stare at her. 

“Madame, Sera, this is Dorian,” Herah offered, and Sera laughed, grinning.

“I remember you! Saved the kids life with some copper bits, you did.”

Dorian’s eyebrows rose as he tapped Bull’s arm, quickly signing, ‘What does she mean? When?’

“In Val Royeaux,” Bull explained. “When you left and danced that morning.”

Dorian brightened, and to everyone’s shock Sera signed at him, making him beam. It was too fast for Bull to catch, but Dorian shot something back that made her laugh.

“I like him,” she announced to the room at large, and dinner got underway. It was nice, despite how stiff Dorian was beside him, and the looks that Vivienne kept giving him. She seemed puzzled by something, but he was determined to ignore her, and by the time they were halfway done something seemed to have clicked. She shifted a little uncomfortably, and Dorian looked up, eyes narrowing a little.

“I’m sorry, Dorian darling, but have we met before?”

Bull turned to translate, and felt his stomach twist with unease. “He says, don’t you remember Duke Chelevin’s salon? Then again, I was hardly the only piece of entertainment there.”

Vivienne went perfectly still, her eyes flicking down to the collar. Dorian smiled with all his teeth, rage carefully banked behind his eyes. 

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, no.”

“But don’t worry,” Bull translated as Dorian signed. “After all, there are no slaves in Orlais. That would be illegal, Madame de Fer.”

She rose with a clatter of her chair. “Excuse me,” she managed before practically bolting from the room, and Dorian returned to his dinner, ignoring the stares from the rest of the table. There was a soft clang, and everyone turned to see Cullen glaring at his plate, which he had just snapped in two with the force of his cutting.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and talk cautiously resumed.

oOo

‘Again.’

Bull tossed a rock into the air, wincing when a blast of purple fire turned it to dust. Dorian was panting, the night was cold, and the moon was high. Their light was only a lantern, hung on a tree branch. They had gone down the road a ways to try and blow off steam. After dinner, Dorian had been both furious and upset, and Bull could only take so much flickering fire on his hands before it freaked him out. So here they were, using rocks for Dorian’s target practice.

‘Again.’

Bull tossed another, and this time Dorian punched the air, instead of using the glaive as a conduit. The rock exploded, and he stepped back, satisfied.

‘I am sorry for my behavior,’ he signed as he walked over, the glaive now on his back. Bull shook his head, and they made their way back up the road.

“Don’t be. You were dealing with a lot.” He wrapped an arm around him, and Dorian sighed, curling into his side. “So. You met her before?”

‘At a salon. Sex party. Was pretty and broken, so owner brought me. She was there. Thought I was interesting and we talked, but when I tried to explain, to get away, she did not listen. Sold to Delacourt that night. Properly collared then too.’

“Shit,” Bull breathed, and Dorian nodded. They reached their tent, ducking inside, and Bull dropped onto their bed with a groan. Dorian set his glaive aside and knelt, kissing his knee before gently helping him out of the brace. Bull stroked his hair, making him sigh, and smiled when Dorian slid between his legs to rest his head against his thigh. 

“I have such a weakness for beautiful things,” he said absently, and Dorian kissed the opposite thigh. “I’m proud of you for getting up the courage to come with.”

Dorian smiled, standing up to climb onto his lap. ‘Want to reward me?’

Bull laughed, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Dorian wasn’t healed fully, he knew that. His memories were harsh and it was unpredictable as to what would set him off. Some days he was more a broken shell than a man. It wasn’t perfect, and it never would be, but for now Bull would hold him up until he could stand fully on his own.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against Dorian’s lips, and took his man to bed.


	11. Life Goes On

The summons came the next morning by way of Cullen, who seemed none too thrilled to be acting as a messenger, particularly when Bull was only a little bit covered and Dorian answered his knock with a scowl, carefully placed scarf, and not much else.

“Inquisitor Herah Adaar requests your presence for a meeting regarding your contract,” Cullen recited, staring resolutely up at the sky and as crimson as his coat. “She also wishes to check the progress of the collar, and says that she will provide breakfast.”

Dorian snapped his fingers imperiously, forcing him to look down. ‘We will be there.’

“Thank you.” Cullen nodded, and hurried away still red as a tomato.

Bull chuckled as Dorian huffed, closing the tent flap. “That man still blushes like a virgin after all the shit he’s seen. It’s amazing.”

‘Templars,’ Dorian sniffed, rolling his eyes. ‘So fragile.’

oOo

The meeting was held in Josephine’s office, mostly because the logging stand they normally used was busy and no one wanted to go down and risk falling in the lake on the slippery mud and snow. It was a little strange, to be kneeling on the meeting rugs inside a building. Minaeve and Josephine were both gone, but one of the Templars still taking lyrium sat in the corner where Minaeve normally was, looking profoundly uncomfortable.

Herah poured the tea, and the two bowed before drinking. Bull calmed his heart, and focused on the taste. It would do no one any good if he wasn’t calm while they conducted business. He had woken up pleasantly sore, Dorian curled like a pleased cat on his chest. While the evening had started poorly, it had ended rather fantastic for both of them. Dorian had accidentally cast embers again, something Bull hadn’t been able to coax from him since their first time. He smiled, feeling a swell of happiness.

“Good night?” Herah asked mildly.

“Oh, very.”

Dorian, on the rug to the side, glowered at him.

“ _Three_ times,” Bull couldn’t resist, and the punch Dorian delivered to his thigh was absolutely worth it. Herah smothered her laugh in her tea. 

When they finished, Dorian took the cups to Joesphine’s desk, and Herah took a slow breath. “I open negotiations with The Iron Bull of The Bull’s Chargers and Inquisitor Herah Adaar.”

They bowed again, and Herah said, “I know that this is highly irregular, and I apologize in advance for any offense, but I would like to offer Dorian a place in the Inquisition proper, while keeping his commission with the Chargers.”

Bull and Dorian both stared.

“You want him as an independent agent? Like I am?” Bull clarified, still stunned.

“Yes.” She turned to Dorian, who looked utterly pole-axed. “Dorian, you’re strong, and you know it. As it stands, I only have two mages in the field with me, and frankly I’m not certain how good Madame is going to be when we’re running all over Thedas, elbow deep in demons, idiots, and the vast majority of the Templar force. You have combat experience, you’re extremely competent at what you do, and frankly you don’t seem like you’d get us killed while ruminating on how the Dalish are fools, unlike certain other eggs I could name. But won’t.”

The Templar in the corner had a rather convenient coughing fit.

Dorian sat back, looking at Bull. ‘Can we do that? Be both?’

“Yes, you can,” Bull nodded. “It might make missions with the Chargers a little complicated, but we’ve got Krem to lead when I’m not there, and our extra ma- _archers_ will be just fine with Dalish. If you want this, you can do it. Personally, I think it’s a great idea.”

Dorian hesitated, then signed, ‘What about you?’

“What do you mean?”

‘Sign language. How am I to speak to others?’

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that. Can you try to keep us as a pair? If only to spare everyone from learning sign before every mission? It’s not the easiest thing to pick up on the fly without some sort of language skill,” Bull said, and she nodded.

“You’re trained to work together, I’d much rather have you with each other than apart.”

Bull nodded, then added, “And absolutely no springing trips to Orlais. At least a week’s notice, so we can plan an escape route in case someone catches wind of Dorian and decides to try and take him back. We’ve spent a lot of time and energy making sure he couldn’t be.”

Dorian nodded emphatically, and Herah agreed.

Once that was all out of the way, the Templar went to kneel behind Herah, gently holding her head as Dorian rested his head on her lap. She picked up the collar, her fingers curling around the edges. Bull took Dorian’s hand, squeezing gently as Dorian smiled up at him.

“It shouldn’t hurt this time,” she said. “Last time, when there were hooks, it was inevitable. Unless something changed, this should be painless.”

Dorian nodded, taking a deep breath and squeezing Bull’s hand.

“This is Russet. He’s here in case something goes wrong and the collar reacts. If it does, he’ll use me as a conduit and basically Silence the collar. You understand?” Dorian nodded, and Herah smiled reassuringly.

“Don’t worry,” Russet said, peeking around her curls. “I’ve done things like this before.” He seemed kind enough, his expression open and guileless. He would be a terrible Wicked Grace player.

“When?” Bull asked, curious.

“Kinloch. There were some mishaps with a necklace spelled with a horror spell, and a few instances with belts. It’s sort of my specialty at this point.”

‘Impressive,’ Dorian signed, and closed his eyes as Herah exhaled slowly and the collar began to glow. They all fell silent, letting her work. She shifted a few times, grimacing as she did so. The hourglass on the table continued its steady stream onward, unrelenting as ever.

“Well, this is weird,” Herah said slowly after some time. 

Bull’s hand tightened on Dorian’s. “What is it?”

“I think the file must have somehow slipped. This isn’t as far along as I thought it would be.” She frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “It shouldn’t be able to move the file. This _should_ be almost two thirds through, but it’s only one third. It’s almost like the collar’s healing itself. Russet?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The bone deep _whump_ of Silence echoed through the room, and the runes on the collar stopped glowing.

Herah’s hands glowed brighter as she delved in. “I’m feeling the mechanics,” she said faintly. “Checking for any traps I might have missed the first time. Oh, _shit_.”

Bull looked on, more than a little horrified. Russet voiced what he was thinking. “What is it? Did something go wrong?”

“It _does_ have its own healing spell. I have to disable that, or it’s going to eventually eat the file and snap back all three rings into place.” She grimaced, twitching under Russet’s hands. “Aw, fuck. It’s a lock.”

“And?”

“I can’t pick locks. I blow locks up and I can make them, key them, but it's just something I can't get right. Can you handle locks?”

Bull was about to respond with a quick explanation on beginner lockpicking when the Mark on her hand sputtered and there was a soft _fwip_ sound.

“… The Mark just unlocked it,” Herah said blankly. “Okay. Be pants shittingly terrified later, Herah Adaar, you have work to do.”

She rearranged the file, narrating as she went, and when the collar recovered from the Silence it glowed for a moment before fading back to nothing, the runes just scratches on the surface of the leather. She stayed holding it for a while, then nodded and carefully let it go. “The file’s doing its job properly. You’ll have maybe six more months with it on, it looks like.”

Dorian sighed, sitting up and touching the collar. He couldn’t quite keep the disappointment off his face, but thanked her. She hugged him, whispering apologies.

They took their time walking back, Dorian leaning heavily on him. There was exhaustion in every line of his face, pain stretching his features taut, and Bull held him close. They nodded to those they knew as they passed, and even Roderick decided that he didn’t want to stop them for once. He seemed unnerved with how they trudged so slowly along. It was a setback that they hadn’t expected, and the six months hung like a weight over their heads.

Krem was training with the others when he saw them, and jogged over. “Hey,” he said quietly, and Dorian drooped, leaning into him to be held for a moment. He looked over Dorian’s head, concerned. “What happened?”

“It’s going to be another six months before he gets the collar off,” Bull said quietly. Dorian made a soft, pained noise, burying his face in Krem’s neck. Krem held him tighter. 

“Hey,” he said soothingly, “want to pile with us?” Dorian nodded, and Krem reached up to gently scratch his hair. “I’ll go get them, then. You and Bull go to the tent.”

Dorian stayed on him for a while, just breathing and being held, and Krem didn’t try and push him off. In the past few months, despite Krem being the younger of the two, he seemed to have appointed himself Dorian’s protective older brother, and the two adored each other fiercely. Krem murmured a few words in Tevene, and Dorian nodded, slowly straightening. Krem patted his cheek, and they made their way to the Charger’s tent.

It was longer than Bull’s by quite a bit, but very tidy. A huge, borderline ridiculous pile of bedrolls and furs sat in the center on a massive black version of the futon mattresses slaves often used in the Imperium. It was effective, though, keeping them off the ground and away from the damp. They both ditched their boots and dropped onto the pile, getting under the furs. The Chargers ventured in shortly, shedding boots and armor to climb in. Grim curled up on Dorian’s side, taking one hand while Dalish sprawled over Bull, taking the other. Bodies slowly accumulated until they were all there, safe and secure together.

Bull’s heart ached as Dorian relaxed, surrounded by his new family, and slowly the group drifted off to sleep. It was always a delicate arrangement, with this many bodies, but the tangle of legs, arms, and heads felt secure and stable.

Bull tightened his arm around Dorian, and let himself drift.

oOo

For being as big of a man as he was, Cullen was startlingly light on his feet.

Dorian was examining the wares at the ragpicker’s tables, and paused when he saw a small travel chess set. He picked it up, running his fingers over the battered wood, and almost jumped out of his skin when Cullen said in his ear, “You play?”

He only narrowly caught the set from dropping, glaring at the laughing shop owner before turning to Cullen, who grinned sheepishly.

‘Mean,’ he signed, but he was smiling. He had to go much slower than usual to “talk” to Cullen, spelling out each word one at a time. He was getting better at it, but it would take time to him to understand as fast as Bull and the rest of the Chargers. ‘Very quiet.’

“Yes, well. It’s a learned thing.” Cullen shrugged, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

‘No worries. I play.’ He nodded to the chess set. ‘You?’

“Oh yes. Though getting anyone free enough to do so around here is something of a challenge.” 

Dorian made his decision, tossing a silver over to the seller, who thanked him and waved them off. They walked back towards the outer gates, and Dorian signed, ‘We could?’

Cullen glanced over at his recruits, worrying at his lip for a moment before shrugging and nodding. “I like that idea. A bit of a break won’t hurt me.” 

They set up on a stump just outside of Bull’s tent, Dorian dragging out the camp chairs for them to sit on. Cullen took black, and the game began. The pieces were old and battered, and the Black Divine missing his head, but it was still a functional set. They chatted back and forth about nothing in particular, pausing only when Bull loomed over them. 

“Chess, huh?” he said, and Dorian smiled up at him, cooing softly in appreciation when Bull bent down to kiss him softly. They had been working on getting Dorian more comfortable with being out and public with their... relationship? Was that what this was? In any case, he was working to get better, and gentle touches warmed him much more than anything erotic. “Where’d you find this?”

“The ragpicker had it,” Cullen said. “I almost scared him into dropping it.”

“Oh?” Bull raised an eyebrow, and Dorian flushed.

‘He’s very quiet,’ he defended, and Bull chuckled, stroking his hair. Dorian leaned into his touch, kissing his palm when he let go. 

“Well, you two have fun. Apparently I have to get out my maul and demonstrate some proper technique on these poor bastards.” He ducked into the tent and Dorian chuckled, going back to the game. 

When Bull had retrieved his weapon and left, Cullen said quietly, “I want what you have.” Dorian raised his eyebrow, curious, and Cullen shrugged, rubbing his neck. “Templars don’t have families, really. It’s very frowned upon. I know of some people who married, but they were all outside the Circles. I… never had that chance.” He made his move, taking one of Dorian’s towers. “I want that. Badly.”

Dorian reached over, squeezing his hand. ‘You will have it,’ he signed with his other, and Cullen smiled.

oOo

‘Friendship is strange,’ Dorian told him when Bull came back late in the evening, and was stripping down for bed.

“What makes you say that?” He smiled when Dorian batted his hand away from his brace, carefully helping him out of it and heating his hands. He had to wait for his answer while Dorian soothed the battered, aching muscles there. His leg had felt stronger lately, likely the result of Dorian’s hands easing the muscle enough for it to heal properly. 

‘You ask for nothing, but get so much in return,’ Dorian signed at last, and Bull cocked his head. ‘I like friends.’

“This is about Cullen, isn’t it?”

Dorian nodded, frowning. ‘Templar. Dangerous. Could still smite me. But so lonely, very eager to be with me or others. He wants what we have, but is scared.’

“What do you mean, what we have?” Bull asked, smiling as Dorian settled on his lap, kissing up his neck. “Mm. That’s nice.”

Dorian sat back so he could see his hands. ‘Companionship. Trust. Affection. Very, very lonely man.’

Bull sighed, pressing their foreheads together. Dorian nuzzled their noses together to make him smile, and Bull carefully swung his legs up so they were in bed, Dorian straddling him. 

“We should try to find someone to set him up with, then.”

‘Would that work?’ Dorian asked skeptically. ‘He is not good at conversing. Or speaking to people. Or being gentle.’

“We’ll just have to find a way to teach him then,” Bull said, his expression fond. “Man like that, he needs someone to lean on before the weight of the world crushes him.”

Dorian nodded, and leaned down to turn the conversation from mild to _extremely_ interesting.

oOo

“Redcliffe, huh?” Bull said as he helped dry Dorian’s hair, Herah standing in front of them. They had heated the lake again, and gone back wet so that Bull could take the time to dry him off. It had been quite enjoyable until Herah showed up, and was now simply brisk and efficient. “To meet with the mages?”

Herah nodded, grinning as Dorian firmly kept his still unstyled mustache hidden behind his hand. “We’re going to talk to a Grey Warden first for Leliana, but yes, then the mages. It’d be you two and Varric with me. I think it’d be a good balance of people, and frankly I don’t want to deal with Orlesian posturing when it comes to Fiona and Vivienne.”

“Fair enough. When do we leave?”

“I’d like to leave early in the morning,” she said, and Bull raised an eyebrow. “If it’s not possible, that’s fine, but I thought that might be the easiest thing to do. The sooner we’re in warmer climes, the happier I’ll be. And I like the Hinterlands. It’s a nice place, very soothing. And green. And not snowy.”

Dorian perked up.

‘We should leave right now.’

oOo

They arrived at the first camp of the Hinterlands without incident after a long, uninspiring ride, but hungry from the road. Bull dismounted, smiling when he saw Dorian hop down and start pulling down his smaller knives. “They do have food for us, Dorian. It’ll only be another hour or so.”

Dorian sniffed, stroking Princess’s face and smiling when she nudged his hand. ‘I will return what we take.’

“Have it your way, sweetling.”

Dorian slid out of his cloak, coat, and shirt in moments, stretching upwards in the warmth to the startled stares of the scouts. The boots went next, and his pants fell from being carefully bound up into their familiar bells, the cuffs tightened down with little buttons. Slinging his glaive across his back, his skin few shades lighter than the handle, he shoved the knives in his sash, kissed Bull’s cheek, and vanished into the undergrowth. The camp was silent, Varric and Herah staring at Bull in astonishment.

“What was that about?” Varric asked, finding his voice first.

“Dorian’s going hunting,” he said with a shrug. “He does this whole “communing with nature” thing sometimes. You won’t have to worry about food for a while.”

“Does he normally do this? Just take off and go murder some nugs?” Varric asked, letting one of the scouts take his surprisingly sturdy and quick pony. Killer glared at the one who tried to take his reins, and Princess whuffed just like her rider, stepping between the two and leading him away. Herah’s horse, a dainty, fine-boned mare that could and would take a man’s arm off, trotted after them.

“He prefers to hunt birds for the challenge, but nug isn’t out of the question,” Bull shrugged. “Maybe some ram, if he has the chance. He has a thing about killing fennec though. And snakes. Such a ‘Vint.”

About an hour later, Dorian returned, clearly pleased with himself and his feet dark with dirt. This time, there was no blood on his pants, and he greeted them with a bag of ten quail, two doves, and four fish.

“I forgot about the fish,” Bull said as the scouts marveled at the unmarked fish. “Did you grab them?”

Dorian nodded, stretching languidly before draping himself over Bull’s lap.

“See any ram?” he asked, offering Dorian a piece of apple. He took it with his teeth to no ones surprise.

‘One. Still alive. There were more. Did not want to drag him.’

“Fair enough.” He nudged Dorian upright, and he slid to the ground at Bull’s feet, stealing the rest of the apple and gratefully taking the soup offered to him.

One of the scouts came up, blushing a little as he mumbled a quick, “We’re very grateful, Serah Dorian,” before practically bolting in the opposite direction. Dorian watched him go, bemused.

‘What was that?’

“I think they’re not sure where to look,” Bull said wryly, reaching down to gently tap one of the gold rings now on display. Dorian squawked in protest, grouching at him with no real heat behind it. “We should get you some nice bars. The rings are gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but bars would probably be safer in a fight.”

Dorian grumbled, but nodded, and ignored the stares as he started on his soup and leaned against Bull’s leg.

oOo

Dorian was flashy in a fight. Herah had known he would be, but she was somehow surprised at how _graceful_ it was to see. He and Bull worked in easy harmony when they helped Blackwall, Dorian’s glaive trailing purple fire as he danced smoothly through their enemies, always on Bull’s blind side, but just within sight at any moment. With Blackwall dealt with, now firmly a member of their group, they migrated back to the camp below where he was staying.

He seemed perturbed by Dorian’s presence, though not Bull’s. Dorian obviously noticed, but said nothing even to Bull, choosing to watch thoughtfully from behind as Varric talked with the man.

For as young as she was, Herah was particularly skilled at the fine art of tearing shit apart. It was a talent she’d worked hard to maintain and foster in growth, and when Bull stopped at her side she thought for a moment that he likely had the same skill, but with a vastly different approach.

“The Ben-Hassrath,” she said quietly as Dorian washed his feet in the pool, always watching from the corner of his eye. “They teach you to see what’s not there.”

“You’re correct.”

“Hissrad taught me a little. I’m not a natural,” she said, knowing it would do her no favors to lie to the Bull. “We worked on it the first few months I was with Valo-kas. Honing instincts, that sort of thing. Learning the rhythm of battle, how to strike most effectively. The timing. A dance. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit.”

“Aban aqun,” he answered, almost instinctively.

She watched Blackwall tap the breastplate he wore. “He’s not right. He’s solid, he’s dependable, but he’s not right. A half step to the left instead of in front of me.”

“I agree,” Bull said quietly, resting one huge hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, not surprised by his thoughtful expression as he looked back down. For some strange reason, it was like standing in front of Hissrad after her first night of training, the soft smile on his face and echo of her teacher- pleased, perhaps, that she had learned her lesson, or pleased because she was picking up a new skill so quickly? “I doubt he’s going to betray us, but watch yourself.”

“Yes, Hi-“ Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard. “Yes, Bull.”

For a second, she’d almost called him Hissrad.

She hugged him tight around the waist, ignoring the pounding of her pulse for a moment as panic flooded her.

“Herah?”

She buried her face in his chest. “Sorry. Just for a minute.”

She didn’t even know if her parents were still alive, if Hissrad still joked around the fire, if Arvaarad and Meraad were still together, if the Ashaad’s still argued about whether she should be collared or free to roam the world without consequence or cage. Bull’s hand gently cradled the back of her head, and she sucked in a pained, heaving gasp as she forced herself down from the edge of a full blown panic attack, trying to match his breathing. A soft hand touched her shoulder- Dorian certainly, and she wanted to tell him she was fine but words were failing her.

Dorian crooned softly, humming something vaguely familiar, and slowly she calmed back down. She peeled herself away from Bull’s reassuring bulk, looking at the ground. “Sorry,” she said quietly, and he gently tipped her face back up.

“Hey,” he said quietly, smiling fondly, “it’s just fine. You think you’re the first person to panic on me?”

Dorian chuckled softly, smiling with self deprecation, and Herah hugged him for good measure. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t to avoid looking at Bull, and the eyes so similar to her own Hissrad’s.


	12. Lucky

The rift in front of the gate to Redcliffe had Dorian frantically signing, so fast that Bull had trouble keeping up. It had been a fairly easy fight, though the rift had been stranger than normal, the demons moving at double speed then slowing enormously, a baffling mix.

“Slow down, slow down,” he finally said, and Dorian let out an aggravated noise as Herah tossed her short, club like staff over her shoulder, done with her looting.

‘Time magic. Has to be. Helped develop it. Something very wrong, very very wrong, must be careful.’ He paced back and forth, whining anxiously in the back of his throat, and Varric raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna be okay there, Sparkler?”

“Time magic,” Bull said. “Something’s up. He said he helped develop it.”

“Well shit,” Varric said, and Herah frowned, taking her staff back down and spinning it in her hands. 

The gate opened for them, and they walked through. A scout walked over, looking more than a little spooked. “Good to see you all alive. We spread word you were coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting you.”

“No one?” Herah asked, startled. “Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“Not a soul, _kithshok_.” 

Herah sighed. “I do wish people would stop calling me that, but I guess it’s better than herald. Herah the Herald, what a terrible title.”

The scout hid a smile. “We’ve arranged to use the tavern for the negotiations.”

“Thank you, Carrell,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder, and they headed into Redcliffe. They made for quite the group. Two Qunari, a human, and a dwarf, all walking together into a tavern. It could be the start of a terrible joke, if Bull felt anything but pure unease about the situation. He didn’t trust the rebel mages. Didn’t trust the templars either, for that matter, but they couldn’t call on demons to do their dirty work as a general rule.

Dorian stayed close to his side as they entered the tavern, the glaive free of its usual coverings. Bull didn’t blame him. He’d brought his war hammer, knowing full well that this had the potential to get ugly, and Varric was keeping Bianca within easy reach.

An elf stepped forward to greet them- Fiona, likely. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition. What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

Herah frowned, brushing her curls back away from her face. “Is this some sort of test? You invited us in Val Royeaux, Grand Enchanter.”

Fiona cocked her head, puzzled. “You must be mistaken. I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Dorian hissed softly under his breath, and Bull rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder as Herah said, “Well, that’s very strange, because someone who looked exactly like you spoke to me in Val Royeaux not a week ago.”

“Exactly like me?” She considered, frowning. “I suppose it could be magic at work, but why would anyone… no matter. Whoever or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already pledged themselves into the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” Bull said without thinking as Dorian gesticulated wildly, horror lining every inch of his features.

Varric shook his head, frustrated. “Andraste’s ass. I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could have done. And I’ve got _nothing_.”

Herah looked pained as Fiona continued, reluctantly. “As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have any authority to negotiate with you.”

“The Divine’s corpse is barely cold, and you’re already jumping ship into the Imperium?” Herah asked, her tone sharp. “Never mind their reputation, but you just sold your people into slavery, no matter what pretty words you use to dress it up.”

Fiona grimaced. “Most of Thedas blames us for the Divines death! The templar attacks were growing worse, and we mages had no allies to speak of. Either we died here in Redcliffe, or took the only offer available. I had to save them. I had no other choice.”

There was a thump and rattle as the door opened, Dorian stepping behind Bull on instinct. Heavy boots thumped down the short corridor.

“Welcome, my friends. I apologize for not greeting you earlier,” a man in truly bizarre robes said, stalking into the room. A younger man, likely his son with regards to his features, walked behind him in similar robes but in yellow.

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius and his son, Felix Alexius.”

Dorian let out a soft cry, and the man in yellow gasped as Dorian stepped forward, looking between the two in shock. They froze, staring back at him.

“ _Dorian_?” Alexius said, his eyes wide with shock. He nodded, and Felix rushed forward, holding him tightly. Dorian clung to him, burying his face in the man’s neck.

Then it was all just a scramble of Tevene as Alexius stepped forward, Dorian laughing in relief as he looked up, tears dripping down his cheeks. Herah and Varric stepped back, the rest of the room looking on is shock as Gereon carefully turned his face one way and another, looking him over as Felix clung to him like he was back from the dead. Dorian waved Bull over, quickly signing to him.

“He says, It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. I’m sorry I couldn’t write. I was taken shortly after my birthday, and I’ve been shuffled around Orlais ever since.”

Dorian pulled off the scarf hiding the collar, and Felix let out a wordless sound of anguish. “Oh, Dor, what did they do to you?” He ran his fingers over it, and Dorian caught his hands, leaning into him. Felix looked up at Bull, desperate. “Why is he still wearing it? Who thinks they own him?”

“No one owns him,” Bull said firmly. “He’s free. It’s locked on with enough traps to blow his head off. It used to block his magic and force him to obey orders as well as keep him mute, but our good Herald over there managed to mostly shatter that. She’s slowly wearing it down so it’ll eventually break and he’ll be able to speak again.”

“Thank you,” Felix said fervently, choking back emotion. “We’ve thought he was dead for years. His family assumed the worst when he vanished, he’s legally a dead man in Tevinter.”

“Your father is going to have a heart attack,” Alexius said, laughing a little in relief, and Dorian grimaced.

“He said, please don’t tell him. I don’t want him to know where I am. It’s better if I stay dead, I promise you.”

Alexius stared at him, horrified. “Dorian, what did he do?”

Dorian just shook his head, pressing his lips tight together. Felix hugged him tightly, and Dorian buried his face against his shoulder, clutching him as if at any moment Felix would turn into smoke and vanish without a trace. 

“Please forgive us, Inquisition, we should perhaps do this another day,” Alexius said, reaching out to hesitantly cup the back of Dorian’s head. He let out a shuddering sob, clutching Felix tighter.

“Of course,” Herah said quietly. “We can meet with you another time, certainly. We’ll wait outside for you, but Bull is his translator. He can’t write without backlash from the collar.”

Alexius nodded, not taking his eyes off of Dorian. “Of course. Thank you.”

They left, and Bull stayed back as Felix buried his face in Dorian’s hair, murmuring in rapid, soothing Tevene as the shock finally caught up. Bull kept back, knowing full well how much distrust the magister probably had of Qunari. Alexius was speaking quickly and quietly, his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian nodded or shook his head to a variety of questions, and Felix stiffened at one of them, glaring at his father. Dorian shuddered, shaking his head firmly, and Alexius pursed his lips, thoughtful.

Felix lowered his head again and stumbled, Dorian grabbing him to keep him from falling.

“Felix!” Alexius grabbed his shoulders, concerned. “Dorian, I’m sorry, but we really must go. We will let them know when we can meet next.”

Dorian nodded, reluctantly letting Felix go and watching with pained eyes as they left. Felix glanced over his shoulder, smiling in reassurance.

“What was that about?” Bull asked lowly when the door had closed.

‘Fell and whispered to meet at the Chantry tonight. News.’ Dorian touched his chest, looking up at Bull. ‘Family. Sort of. A-l-e-x-i-u-s was master. Teacher-master. Had an argument.’

“A falling out, huh?” Bull wrapped his arm around him. “You okay? You seem pretty shaken.”

‘Did not expect that.’ Dorian curled into him for a moment, stealing strength. ‘I will be fine. Just need to breathe.’

“Take your time.”

oOo

At camp, Dorian paced. They would be working on a variety of things around the Hinterlands for a solid week, travelling between camps and working to help keep the people of the Hinterlands afloat, but that night they had to meet with Felix. Dorian wasn’t resting in the slightest, and Bull watched as he prowled the edges of camp while night slowly fell. He had switch to darker clothing, the leather caligae near soundless on the ground as he walked, and he’d pulled out his less used dark armor in the Dalish style. Herah watched him as well, thoughtful, while Blackwall leaned against the rock of their ledge and considered.

“He rather reminds me of a panther,” he said as Dorian turned to make his third circuit. “Big, lean, lots of sharp edges.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bull said, thinking fondly of Dorian’s tendency towards biting with a vengeance. 

The man himself stalked into camp, setting the glaive down and dropping down next to Bull. He passed over his apple without comment, and Dorian hummed softly, nudging him with his shoulder in thanks.

“Where’s he from, originally?”

“He’s mute, not deaf,” Bull said mildly as Dorian’s eyes flicked up with a hint of warning. “Think of me as just an extra step towards speaking. I translate, I don’t read minds.”

“Right. Sorry.” Blackwall winced, turning to Dorian, who inclined his head. “Where _are_ you from?”

“Qarinus, originally,” Bull said, watching his hands. “Studied in Vyrantium, then Minrathous. He was taken near there, lived in the South of Tevinter for a year, then Val Royeaux.”

“How many years has it been since you’ve been there?” Blackwall asked, no pity in his eyes, just compassion. Dorian sighed.

“Six years. He was 23 when he was taken, and spent seven years total in slavery.” Thirty, then. Dorian had never offered the information, but Stitches would be pleased that his guess was so close. “When his first master died, he was shipped over the border.”

Varric whistled through his teeth. “You pass through the Free Marches at all, Sparkler?”

Dorian shook his head. “No,” Bull translated, just as curious as the rest. “He was taken by land, instead of by sea. They went through Nevarra fairly quickly, and he was sold in Cumberland to the first of the Orlesians.” Bull hesitated, and said reluctantly, “He was not a kind man.”

Dorian fiddled with the apple as silence fell. Dorian leaned against him, his face falling into exhaustion. Bull wrapped an arm around him, letting him curl in closer to close his eyes and rest a while. Dorian was asleep in minutes, and Bull gently stroked his hair as conversation slowly resumed. Soon he would have to wake him and make the trip to the Chantry, but for now he should rest. 

The time came, and they made their descent. Blackwall remained, watching them go with a bit of nervous energy twitching over him. Dorian watched him curiously over his shoulder until he disappeared from sight.

“What is it?” Bull asked quietly as Herah and Varric pushed ahead.

‘Something odd about him. But I like him.’

oOo

There was a rift in the Chantry, as well as Felix.

“About time,” he managed, and Bull spared a moment to think despairingly about these mages who didn’t use proper staves. Even Vivienne used something that could probably be called a damn club instead. Felix was no different, carrying a matched pair of nasty looking weapons in black and gold he was fairly certain were called tonfas, and were essentially just batons with extra grip. “A little help would be nice?”

Dorian’s glaive split the air with a shriek, and the two of them fell into an easy rhythm as Bull charged another. He tried to watch when he could, impressed by their ease of cooperation. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought they’d spent maybe a day apart, not a full seven years. It was a quick, straight forward fight, and the rift closed with that strange whining _snap_. Felix straightened, locking the tonfas together and tucking them through a loop in his belts.

“Right, well, to get right to it, my father’s gone insane,” he said brightly, a little winded. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves “Venatori”, and he’s been using time magic to warp things to his favor. Boom, mages under his control, not under yours.” He staggered a little bit and Dorian caught him with ease. “Thank you, _amicus_. The glaive is nice, where did you find it?”

“Val Royeaux,” Bull offered. “He has expensive taste.”

“Oh, believe me, I feel your pain,” Felix said, grinning up at Bull. He was a little surprised by how warm the expression was, but shrugged it off. “Anyway. The time magic? Extremely unstable. Dorian can probably explain more to you about it, I was never really involved during the process of development. My talents are more combat based than experimental. Or, you know, mathematical. Hi, my name is Felix Alexius, and sometimes I'm a math professor.”

Dorian snorted, and Bull grinned. “He says that you helped plenty, not to sell yourself short, and did you have win that fight with Corpus?”

“I _did_ , thank you for your rousing vote of confidence,” Felix said, rolling his eyes.

Herah raised her hand timidly, a strange thing to see on a six foot Vashoth. “Um. Why would he go to all the effort? I’m not that important, really.”

“I don’t know,” Felix said with a shrug. “They’re obsessed with you. Everything he’s done has been to get to you. Probably because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

‘You can close the rifts,’ Dorian signed, and Bull repeated him. ‘Maybe there’s a connection.’

“If the Venatori are behind the rifts or the Breach, they’re even worse than I thought,” Felix said, carefully standing up without Dorian’s help. Bull watched as Dorian fussed over him for a moment, feeling fond. “Dorian, please, I’m fine. Mostly.”

“Pardon me for not quite getting this, but Alexius is your father,” Varric said dryly. “Why are you telling us this?”

Felix sighed. “I love my father, and my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing is madness. You have to stop him.”

Dorian winced, and Bull winced as well as he repeated, “Dorian says it would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time, what with there already being one in the sky.”

Herah laughed, a little hysterical, but got herself under control quickly. “All this, and I didn’t get him anything.”

“Fruit baskets are always nice,” Felix grinned as Dorian opened his mouth, only to laugh softly.

“I like this kid,” Varric muttered, and Bull was inclined to agree. Dorian was so relaxed around him, his body language far more open than normal, except perhaps around the Chargers. It spoke of implicit trust and understanding, an old friendship that stretched far, far back. 

“I’ll be in touch,” Felix promised. “When it comes time to deal with him, be ready. His guards are shoddy, he relies too much on his own strength, but he’ll be more cautious. I can only sneak away a little at a time. He hovers relentlessly. Being an only child means he’s extra protective of me. I’m all he has left.” Dorian sighed, and Felix shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“We’ll be in the Hinterlands for some time, working on keeping the peace and restoring some order,” Herah told him. “If you see any of our scouts, they’ll know to pass a message. And, I’m sorry, but what are _those_?” She pointed at the tonfas, fascinated.

“What, these?” Felix pulled them out, unlocking the pair and twirling them. “Tonfas. Think of them like two really short, really strong staves. My magic is fairly balanced. Left for defense, right for offense, switching as needed.” He twirled them, tucking them against his arms. “Dorian’s always favored pole arms. Much flashier, like him.”

Dorian snorted, flicking his shoulder.

“What, it’s the truth,” Varric chuckled. “I didn’t know people could dual wield magic.”

“It’s a rare specialization. Mostly favored by bodyguards, honestly.” Felix snapped the tonfas back together, sliding them into their loop. “Given my looks and choice in weaponry, I got mistaken for Dorian’s bodyguard when we were roaming Minrathous more than a few times. It was very useful.”

Bull had to admit, looking at the two of them, Dorian did look much more like the pampered noble than Felix, with his heavier features and close cut hair. 

“We should go,” Herah said reluctantly. “You should get back to Alexius before he thinks you’ve gone missing.”

Felix sighed, nodding. “True. But we’ll see each other again soon enough.” Dorian pulled him into a hug, whining softly, and Felix carefully hugged him back. “I’ll be fine, Dorian. Don’t worry about me. I’ve made it this long.”

Dorian snorted, stepping back to grab Felix’s face to glare at him. This was apparently common behavior, because Felix simply smiled fondly, letting Dorian turn his head back and forth without complaint. Having decided that his inspection was up to par, apparently, Dorian stepped back and nodded.

“Take care of him, please,” Felix said, looking over at Bull. “I’d hate to go to his funeral twice in my life.”

oOo

“Felix seems nice,” Bull offered as they prepared to bed down for the evening. Dorian smiled, carefully arranging their packs out of the way before crawling into their bedroll and calling up a little piece of veilfire. “Not what I was expecting, what with the whole ‘Vint thing.”

‘Felix is kind,’ Dorian signed. He’d made a name for Felix, lucky, with an F following it. Bull tried not to feel too sappy about the whole affair. ‘Always kind. Brother. You call it shield brother, yes?’

“I think that’s probably the closest idea,” Bull mused. “There’s another term, _kadan_. It means the literal and metaphorical center of the chest. So someone very close.”

‘Sounds romantic.’

“No,” Bull said quietly. “There is no love or romance under the Qun.”

Dorian went still, his hand creeping up to rest as it normally did on Bull’s chest, running in lazy patterns over where his heart beat. Bull caught it, twining their hands together to hold him still.

“Try and get some sleep,” he said softly, watching as the veilfire glowed under their joined hands, hovering harmlessly over his skin. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Dorian wiggled his fingers, and Bull let go. Dorian wavered for a moment, and Bull looked down just in time for Dorian to look up, a flash of sadness in his eyes. ‘Would you still want me when I am not this? Young or beautiful?’

Alarmed, Bull sat up, and Dorian followed, moving back so the little ball of green light sat between them. “Dorian, what’s going on? Have I done something?”

‘No, just thinking.’ He reached up, touching Bull’s face, and Bull leaned into his hand, searching his face for any sign of pain or hidden anguish. There was none anymore, just calm thoughtfulness. He pulled his hand away. ‘I am not immortal. I will grow grey hair. I will have lines. Always another. Younger. More beautiful.’

“Dorian,” Bull whispered, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. This was important, and he didn’t want to think about why. “Dorian, I don’t care about things like that. Fuck, you know me. I know the Chargers have told you that I’ll fuck anyone. Some grey hair and lines sure as hell aren’t going to keep me from you.”

Dorian smiled, looking down at the veilfire. It bobbed harmlessly on Bull’s knee, and he gently scooped it up, holding it close to his chest. With his other hand, he signed, ‘Keep me until you cannot. Until you go back.’

“Dorian, that’s a long time from now.”

‘I would have you until then, if you would have me.’ Dorian opened the lantern, setting the veilfire inside. It glowed almost cheerfully, as if the lantern were close enough to its original home that it was content.

Bull slid his fingers under Dorian’s chin, turning him so they were looking at each other properly. Dorian looked up at him in calm resignation, and Bull lowered his head until they were pressed together in a tangle of limbs and hands, his breathing ragged in the still air of the tent. “You have no idea what you’re asking, Dorian,” he whispered. “No idea. But yes. Until it is time, you have me.”

Dorian tipped his face up, pulling him into a kiss, and Bull rolled them carefully so Dorian was pinned under him. The veilfire cast a strange glow over them, the angle turning Dorian’s face soft, and he lowered his head to kiss along his neck, and when Dorian nodded, bit down hard, letting the mark fill out darkly with blood, and laving his tongue soothingly over the grooves were his teeth had sunk. It sat high enough that damn leather band couldn’t cover it, the hateful collar marking him as _owned_ in all the worst ways.

“When this shit comes off,” he said, his voice a little ragged, “we’re throwing a party. A fucking huge party, possibly with tiny cakes and very good wine.”

Dorian laughed softly, pulling him up for a kiss. When Bull pulled back, he was smiling, and signed, ‘May I?’

Bull nodded, and Dorian left him with a mark of his own, slightly heart shaped. They settled back down in the bedroll, Dorian running his fingers over the junction of neck and shoulder where the mark rested, and sighed contentedly. Bull held him close, and dreamed pleasant dreams of collars on fire, and Dorian free, dressed in the finery of Par Vollen.

He woke feeling sick, and his stomach lurched when he saw Dorian dressing, beautiful in the faint morning light.

“Yours,” he said softly, the mark throbbing, and Dorian smiled, the massive bruise above his collar faintly yellow at the corners.

‘Yours.’


	13. Hair

The Hinterlands were a pleasure cruise in comparison to some of the shit he’d seen, but fighting bears left, right, and center was hardly the most enjoyable activity.

“I’m just saying,” Bull said as he ducked under a branch, “it wouldn’t be that terrible of an idea if we just _didn’t_ fight the bears. Think on it.”

“I’m with him,” Blackwall said, limping a little, and Dorian made a loud noise of agreement.

Herah blithely continued on, heading for the rather uncomfortable looking villa in the distance. “Oh come now,” she said, grinning brightly at them all. “The sun is shining, the grass is green, birds are singing in the trees. We are now considerably better off, thanks to that handy little merchant who wanted the bear skins, and _I_ have a fancy new bear claw necklace. I was thinking of making more, one for each of the advisers. Cullen could wear it with his cloak, Josephine could attach it to her chains of office, and Leliana could make them into teeny tiny knives. Or just wear it as a necklace.”

“As badass as that would be, and it really _would_ be badass, perhaps you should save that for another trip,” Bull said, and Dorian whined his assent. “Not that I don’t love the mayhem and carnage, but I can only take so many bears without feeling the monotony sink in, you know.”

Right on time, a mercenary roared in challenge, and Dorian groaned, glaive coming out and bursting with violent purple light. His collar flared in response, and the group launched themselves into combat. 

They took the villa with relative ease, and Bull only rolled his eyes a little when Herah went on her usual looting spree, gleefully checking ever little vase for potential lost gold, or a bracelet or ring. Dorian picked up a paper, freezing a little for a moment as his eyes darted over it. He bolted over to Bull, shaking it in his face. Bull took it carefully, squinting a little to read it. It was an account of the villa’s creation, and he smiled at the story. “Good on them,” he said fondly, and Dorian beamed. 

‘Husband but not,’ he signed, and Bull nodded. Dorian took the paper back from him, carefully folding it and tucking it in his things. 

Herah came jogging back, grinning at them. “I like this place. We should vacation here.”

Bull put on his best dry voice, mimicking Ashaad One and saying, “Are we not told that suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it? For I, myself, must refuse to live in a bear infested love cave.”

Herah giggled, punching his shoulder with a surprising amount of force as she loped back out the side to go and pick up another one of the shards.

“You know, I think she might be growing a little,” he said to Dorian, who hummed thoughtfully as they followed. “She’s certainly muscling up. Shokrakar’s going to be just thrilled when she finds out her little tiny magelet’s been running wild beating up bears.”

“Who’s Shokrakar?” Blackwall asked as they stopped, waiting for her to climb back up the ladder with the shard.

“Herah’s boss. Huge Vashoth, taller than me, double curled horns. Unbelievable rack. Of the horn variety, of course. She’s fifteen kinds of badass in one terrifying package.” Bull grinned, nudging Dorian. “Remind me to ask Krem and Dalish about that when we get back, I never did get the details.”

Dorian grimaced, batting at his arm and making a face of disgust. 

“What? I didn’t say you had to listen.”

Blackwall chuckled. “She sounds like quite a lady.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Bull said wryly, wincing as Herah launched herself back onto the battlements with a thud. “ _Imekari_ , every thought about not giving me heart failure one of these days?”

She loped back to them, beaming. “Would you put my hair up in the tight braids when we get back to camp? Could you? It wouldn’t get tangled then!”

For one terrifying, heart wrenching moment, he was 12 years old again, his littlest year mate walking up with ties for her hair and pleading with him to fix it, make it lay flat so she could run around with everyone else, to show she was properly grown and ready to take her place. He could feel the heat of Par Vollen sun on his skin, Little Bit’s bright blue eyes looking up at him like he’d hung the moon, a scar already long on her cheek. She’d gone to the Antaam, her braids changing from childhood standards to the Antaam’s warrior lines.

A soft whistle brought him back to reality, Dorian’s hand a light weight on his arm. Herah looked a little worried, looking up at him.

“Right. Sorry. I can do that,” he said, and she smiled, wrenching his heart all over again. Dorian’s hand stayed gentle on his arm most of the way back to camp, and Blackwall thankfully said nothing. Varric was with them still, working on something for Leliana when they got back. Bull perched on a rock, and Dorian brought him the nicer of the two combs before vanishing into the tent they were all sharing for a nap. Herah sat cross-legged at his feet, and he began separating her hair into sections. 

“It’s been quite some time since I did this,” he said quietly, carding gently through her hair. The comb was only there to separate, not to brush out tangles unless he encountered them. He didn’t want to frizz her curls. “Should I do it like the Arishok has his?”

“Have you met him?” She asked curiously, and he sighed. It had been an inevitable question.

“Only the once. Arvaarad reminds me a little of him. Very serious. But a big fan of cats. The old Arishok, he kept his hair loose and long. The new Arishok, he wears it tight to his head, but leaves it long on the sides. Do you want it all up in braids, then gather it to one thick braid at the neck so you can pin it up?” He made a few more splits, trying to decide how he was going to manage it. 

“Yes, please.”

He set to work, his finger clumsy as he tried to bring back the muscle memory. It felt like being home again, and he did his best with two fingers missing their full extensions.

“My mother used to do this,” Herah said as he worked, braiding and unwinding it until he had the idea back. “Before she went blind, that is. After, she mostly just held court.”

“Your mother is a magistrate?”

Herah shrugged. “Sort of. She’s a justice. She hears the peoples complaints or problems and solves them. She’s the local matchmaker as well.”

“I didn’t think Vashoth had matchmakers.” He finished one braid, and was pleased when it stayed without help. He began another.

Herah shifted a little, her hands curling into half fists. “Some of the more traditional families want to keep their bloodlines specialized one way or the other. Ashaad Two’s wife was chosen for him, they have three children bred to continue into the mercenary business.”

That was honestly unnerving. One more thing to write back to Par Vollen, he supposed. He’d had no idea before sitting down with the Valo-Kas that people actually kept to the tenants of the Qun, let alone continued with some sort of modified form of it.

“What about you?” he asked as he finished the second braid. “Do you have some husband picked out, waiting wistfully back home for you?”

Herah snorted, her hands relaxing. “As if. As the daughter of a justice and a farmer, and with my being a mage, a mercenary, and the closest we've got to an arcanist on top of it all, I’m next to impossible to match. There was discussion a while back, from a family based out of the Kocari Wilds, but he was unsuitable. Mama thought I needed someone smaller, so any child I bore would be easy on me. He was plenty tall, though. But not that handsome, and dull as a rock. If I were to breed, I’d breed for intelligence, not height.”

Bull’s hands dropped from her hair as he stared down at her, feeling a surge of grief and frustration. She was so damn _young_ still. “And here I thought the whole Tal-Vashoth thing was to be free of this sort of thing. Make your own choices, marry and fuck whoever you please.”

Herah shrugged, leaning back against his legs. “My mother loves me. She loves my father, in her own way. But I’m a calculated investment.” Her voice was matter of fact. 

“You know,” he said, unable to continue thinking about her being taken away, married off, “in Par Vollen, the braids mean something. You get them when your role is chosen, and different styles indicate where that role is.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said, surprised. “What do these mean?”

“These are tamassran braids,” he said, pausing. “Would you like different ones, now you know?”

She thought for a moment before looking up at him. “Are there Ben Hassrath braids?”

“There are. Five of them, joined at the neck in a knot. The Ariqun wears hers in large, long loops of three, brought back up to the neck and held together with ties. It’s assumed that if you can get close to the Ariqun and attack, at that point it doesn’t matter if their hair is long, because either they will be dead, or you will be dead by the time you think to grab it.” He made the comb dance through his fingers. “The Antaam is pretty straightforward. Eight braids tight to the head, bound at the neck, or kept in a short tail if you’re a sten.”

“Did you wear braids?” she asked, turning around so that she could look at him properly.

“I did,” he said. “For a time. But when I went to Seheron it became too much hassle. After I cut it, it never seemed inclined to do much growing back.” Bull grimaced, running a hand over his head. “And it didn’t help that my hair is dark. It’s… unusual. People were unnerved.”

Herah frowned, reaching up with one tiny hand to touch his knee. “I’m sorry,” she said, and he patted her hand as his heart squeezed. She was too old to be his, but only by a few years. He likely had children, running around somewhere out there. He hoped they got the courage, the strength, and not all the heart that made him want to tug the world in and hold it until it either died quick or quieted enough to relax for a time. 

“Bull?” Herah asked. “What do the kithshok wear?”

Bull smiled, forcing the thoughts away. “They shave the sides and wear it in one thick, tall braid down the middle made of other small braids.” Her eyes lit up, and he smiled. “Should I go get Dorian’s razor?”

“Please?”

oOo

He shaved her head by the side of the stream, the curls falling softly away. Varric sat on a rock nearby as he worked, detailing the event “for posterity”, and Dorian, who had initially been none too thrilled to be woken up, watched with a fond smile as Blackwall sharpened his sword. Herah sat primly, kneeling with perfect posture as he worked. Her hair was longer than he had originally thought, and as he took a bodkin to pin it up, he said, “There’s normally a ceremony or some shit to go with this sort of thing, but fuck all if I know what it is.”

“I’m Vashoth, pretty sure this is sacrilege anyway,” she said mildly, and he snorted, finishing the shave. She looked older with it shorn down, and he nodded approvingly before starting on the braids. He did one that would run the length of the shaved side, making a nice line where the hair began on both sides, letting them trail off when he was done. Pleased, he began to work on the rest.

“You know, Bull,” Varric said warmly, “I met the Arishok.”

“The old one?” he asked, as he finished the first section of smaller braids. “Man, he had an impressive rack. The new Arishok doesn’t have horns at all. Usually means they’re meant for something special.”

“I met him too. The only thing they seemed to have in common was a tendency to burn things.”

“That pretty much sums up the Antaam, yes,” he said with a dry chuckle, and Herah smiled.

“Why aren’t you in the Antaam, Bull?” she asked, and his fingers nearly slipped. “I mean, you’re pretty damn large.”

“Language,” he said without thinking, gently swatting one of her little horns. “And I’m not there because it would be a waste of my mind. If there’s one thing the Qun does, it’s use people effectively. Shokrakar notwithstanding.”

“I’m grown, you can’t complain about language!” Herah said indignantly as Dorian laughed. “Dorian, back me up here.”

Dorian just laughed again, sprawling out on the grass with a grin on his face. Blackwall didn’t try hiding his smile, and neither did Varric. She huffed, but held still as he finished the next section. The memory came easily now, making his fingers quick as he worked. He was almost halfway done. 

“Did you hear about Shokrakar?” she asked curiously as he worked. “What with her being a disruptive influence.”

“No, she was before my time. She’s a good, what, seven years older than me? Something like that. By the time she got out of Par Vollen I would have been in Seheron, far from wherever she was.” He sighed, undoing one of the braids to do it over. “It is a shame.”

Varric had been scribbling, but looked up. “What, that you didn’t hear of her?”

“No.” Bull began work on the next strands. “What was done to her. Had she been given to the Antaam, she would have been much happier. But whoever her tamassran was didn’t pay close enough attention to what she needed, and thought they could just push a different life on her and she wouldn't care.”

“I didn’t think you were allowed to have desires, under the Qun,” Varric said.

Bull thought for a moment. “A baker in Val Royeaux has been baking his whole life,” he said, his fingers twisting the hair back and forth, back and forth. “But he is devout, honorably so, and wants nothing more than to give up his work and go to the Chantry, to be made a lay brother of some variety. He would do good work there, after all, and it would make him happier than baking bread. But he has a family to feed, his siblings and parents to tend to. What is the best course of action for him?”

Now he really did feel like he was back in Par Vollen, explaining to the younger children the more basic precepts of the Qun. 

“I know this story,” Herah said with long suffering. “Ashaad Two loves this story. So Varric, you have to take this one.”

“I… I guess to stay and be a baker,” Varric said, a little uncertain. “He can still do good work without being in the Chantry, and he has people to support.”

“And there is where the Qun differs,” Bull said, beginning on the last section of hair. “Suppose this man was chosen to be a baker. He was trained, he did well, but he wanted the priesthood so badly he could taste it. He had a desire to serve there, instead. Then he would be taken from his place, and given to the Priesthood instead. There are always more bakers, but there are few enough people of faith. Give people what they need, and they can find peace. Keep them somewhere they dislike for too long, you risk people becoming full of anger and unhappiness.” He carefully finished the last braid, and began to braid it in its thick, singular one. “It is to be, but what it is to be, is to be content.”

“Birds in the window,” she said quietly, and he nodded. 

“Just so.” He braided neatly and quickly, and when he reached the end, the hair sitting fat just below her shoulders, he tied it off with a strip of leather in a tight knot. She felt it, smiling, and Dorian let out a pleased hum. 

She leaned, down, looking in the water, and stared at her reflection in fascination. “I look… different. Stronger.”

“It’s a good look on you,” Varric agreed, and Blackwall nodded as she stood. The cut made her cheekbones seem taller, the points of her horns sharper. She looked much more like she was twenty and in charge of armed forces than a child playing dress up in armor now. 

“The adviser’s are going to have words for you,” Blackwall said, grinning. “And they’d better be polite ones.”

She preened a little, and Dorian rose, walking over to gently tap the shaved sides of her head. 

Bull translated as he signed to her, “He says that you’re going to have to remember that you need to shave now, if you want to keep that look.”

“Eh,” she said, grinning as she touched the sides. “I can live with that.”

oOo

Dorian wasn’t thrilled about having to share a tent, and told Bull as much. Repeatedly. But he didn’t fight too much when everyone piled in, Herah flopping down against Bull’s other side against the tent’s wall as Dorian curled up in his customary spot, bells on his wrist. Varric took the other wall, leaving Blackwall to settle between him and Dorian.

Dorian was stiff under his arm as the tent fell quiet, and Bull gently squeezed him as he felt the hand on his chest tremble a little. Taking Dorian’s hand, he laid it flat and carefully spelled out S-A-F-E with one finger. Dorian curled in closer, burying his face against Bull’s side, and he was about to suggest they sleep outside when Blackwall sighed.

“All right, that’s quite enough of that. Herah, up you get.”

“What?” She lifted her head, already a little bleary.

“You’re switching places with me,” he said firmly.

“Why?” she asked, baffled. 

Bull felt a swell of warmth as Blackwall said firmly, “I’m not going to spend the night wondering if I’m making Dorian uncomfortable. He doesn’t know me, and he’s dealt with enough shit to know not to trust people he doesn’t know well. Switch me places.”

Herah said nothing, just rose and did so, and Bull moved just enough to kiss the top of Dorian’s head as he felt tears on his skin. 

In the morning, he would thank Blackwall, but for now, he was content to feel the shape of Dorian’s smile against his skin, and feel the hand on his heart go still and calm, the fear dissipating into nothing.


	14. Together; We are Strong

Krem was waiting for them on the edge of Haven's boundaries, unusually somber as they rode up. It had been a long, dull trip, utterly uninspiring, though they had all enjoyed the warm weather afforded them by the Hinterlands. Coming back to the cold had not been what anyone called enjoyable. He spared a glance at Blackwall, but focused his attention on Herah. 

"Your worship, the advisers are gathered at the War Table." He held her horses reins as she dismounted, passing her a roll of paper tied with twine. "Reports from Josephine and Leliana, and the commander's summation of the weeks improvements around Haven. And before you have to hear about it, there was an incident between Madame de Fer and Sera, but it appears to be handled."

''Appears to be or _is_ , lieutenant?" Herah said, opening the twine. Bull swallowed a smile as Krem subtly straightened to parade rest.

"Is, your grace. Lady Montilyet managed to find Madame de Fer a new desk, and Sera a new quiver."

"Wonderful," Herah muttered as she skimmed the report. "Josephine is a gift unto we mere mortals. In time we shall all cower before her. Dare I ask what happened?"

"Sera claims she was pranking Cullen."

"Say no more." Herah rolled up the paper, handing it back to Krem. "Please use those for kindling. Bull, I'd like the two of you to join me after dinner. I'd like to mobilize the Chargers before the end of the week. Places to go, people to see, small countries to conquer or something. I think Leliana wants me to squash Orlais and rule it myself."

"You got it," Bull said as Dorian's Princess lifted her head and let out an earsplitting screech. She jerked her head around as Puff answered. Dorian let her go to meet up with her friend, who had apparently jumped the corral fence and was being chased by Dennet. 

"I want one," Herah said wistfully, and everyone but Dorian and Krem grimaced. "Ooh, I wonder if the bog unicorn has arrived yet."

Blackwall looked curious, but shut his mouth when Varric grunted, "Don't ask. Just don't."

Dorian tapped Blackwall on the shoulder and pointed to the blacksmith's shop, miming a box.

"There's room there?"

Dorian nodded, and Blackwall murmured his thanks, leading his horse towards Harrit as Puff and Princess screamed at each other, Dennet looking on in exasperated horror.

oOo

The problem with Cullen was that, Dorian and Herah aside, he still saw mages as a terror that stalked the night.

"Squads," Herah said over tea, looking particularly fearsome in her bright pink house slippers and bizarre tan pajamas.

"Pardon?" Cullen said, sniffing suspiciously at his tea. Bull wasn't very certain of it either. It smelled, and tasted vaguely like cider.

"I want mixed squads. Two mages, one Templar, one or two standard recruits. Or a variety of something similar." Herah set her tea down with a rather loud clink, leveling her gaze at Cullen, who looked profoundly uncomfortable. "I intend to bring peace, not continue this nonsense. Familiarity begets understanding, or at least more effective hunting. One healer, one front guard, two to flank at minimum. I want our Templars to work with our mages, to guard them, a compliment to their work instead of a danger."

"Neither side will be pleased," Leliana said softly.

"Both sides must learn to function as a team, rather than individuals. Trust is vital if we are to succeed. I refuse to believe than none of the Templars are capable of looking beyond the terrible mage they've been taught to see." Herah frowned, touching the rim of her teacup and running her finger down the smooth side. It was a new set, one she had purchased in Val Royeaux. Sturdy, rather than beautiful, but the white glaze had tiny blue birds painted on it. "But we must be careful. Too many of the mages suffered at the corrupt hands of Templars who had power over them. I am deeply concerned by the conversations I've had with our Templars, particularly those from Kirkwall, Kinloch, and Ostwick. They'be told me plenty about the cruelty of their brethren and sisters. And I will not suffer rapists in my ranks."

Cullen had gone still and pale, but Herah lifted her tea up, sipping as she stared him down, and everyone looked on in astonishment as he lowered his head without a fight, backing down.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'll put together three to see what balances work best before splitting the rest."

"Very good, Commander," she said, her voice deceptively mild. "After all, you are charged with protecting all of Haven's inhabitants, and combining the abilities of Templars and mages certainly makes it seem like we could take on anything. Perhaps a trip to the Hinterlands to hunt down bears may be in order for our more unruly recruits?"

"There's always the Storm Coast," Bull said, his voice just as mild. "Plenty of nonsense for those them to fight there. Spiders, bandits, you name it."

"You have worked there before," Cassandra said. "Would it be wise to send scouts out? We could certainly use more influence along the Coast."

"It could open up more ports to us," Josephine points out, and Leliana nodded in agreement. "Just having ports available to us could mean more supplies, more recruits, and faster travel. We have a few people native to the coasts among our number who could teach others how to build boats and other such things."

"Rain," Herah said gloomily. "Oh, what joy."

Sera nudged her, grinning. "Aww, cmon, better rain than bears, yeah?"

oOo

"I'm sorry, Sera, what was that you were saying about bears?" Herah yelled as the Great Bear slammed down on her. On her other side, Cassandra body slammed the bear, pushing it off of her. Vivienne's flames distracted it further, and Sera's bees broke over its back, ignoring them in favor of attacking the bear. At last it keeled over, and Herah groaned in relief, falling over. The rain poured down, splattering across her face in uncomfortable thick drops. It never seemed to stop raining here.

Sera peered down at her, grinning. "You aren't that scary, for being all magicky. You're all itty bitty, not like Bull."

"I _wish_ I were big like Bull," she said wistfully, letting Sera help her up. "Bears don't push him around."

"And you'd be, like, _huge_ ," Sera giggled as Herah brushed off. "Phwoar, yeah?"

"Phwoar," Herah agreed as Cassandra cleaned off her blade and joined them, Vivienne making her way down the hill she'd been casting from. She and Sera were aggressively ignoring each other, something that should have made work more difficult but instead seemed to be working for both parties. Cassandra and Herah were both pretending that they hadn't noticed. "Everyone ready?"

There was a chorus of agreement, and they headed on, further down the Coast towards the next camp. The Chargers were already waiting when they arrived, Krem and Dalish leaning against a tree and grinning at a very red Scout Harding while Skinner looked on with intense interest.

"Cremisius!" Herah barked, smiling as Krem snapped to attention. "Stop flirting with my favorite scout and come report. I'm sure I don't want to bother Bull right now, since I see neither him or Dorian."

"I'm your favorite?" Harding asked as Krem jogged over.

"Of course you are," Herah said, grinning at Dalish as she made a rather lewd gesture. "Don't let these two bowl you over." Her companions brushed past her, heading into camp to the fire and warm, dry bedrolls. "Any news?"

"Cleared out some bandits, looted what we could," he said, passing her a piece of paper. "They call themselves the Blades of Hessarian, so probably Tevene, originally. Hessarian was the Archon that put Andraste to death. Interesting man. Not the best, not the worst that the Imperium has to offer, though I'm sure there are some people who'd argue with me on that. Dorian can probably tell you more about him when he's not... preoccupied. I heard you found the missing scouts?"

She nodded, and Harding winced at the look on her face. "We found other Blades of Hessarian papers," she said. "Anything else?"

"There's a dragon," he said bluntly. "Chief's beyond thrilled. We've only caught glimpses of her through the fog, but she's massive. if you take her on, you're going to have one hell of a fight on your hands. She's big, and we're pretty certain she's got a clutch that hatched out on that little not-island over there."

Herah was already looking out over the water, her eyes searching for any hint of wings in the fog. "Remind me to up your pay when we get back to Haven."

"You got it, boss."

Bull emerged from his tent, looking utterly pleased with himself and reeking of sex. She bounded over, beaming at him. " _Dragon_."

"I know!" He grinned, baring his teeth as she practically vibrated in front of him. "I caught just a glimpse of her, but she's stunning. Fucking huge. Man, she's going to be a fun one."

"Soon," she promised. "Soon, we'll hunt."

They both turned to look out over the waves, hissing in unison as they heard her scream in the distance, Herah's ears twitching upwards slightly in excitement.

oOo

"Dragon's got you all worked up," Sera said over dinner. "You and Bull. This one of those Qun thingies?"

"A little bit, but it's not that big of a deal," Bull said when Herah looked to him. "Most Qunari do have a thing for dragons, though. Something about them makes us either want to fight them, or keep them as pets. Mostly fight them, though."

"I want to fight her," Herah said immediately, her eyes getting a little wild. "I want to fight her and _win_."

"Like that," Bull said, nodding to her, and Sera stared between them.

"You two are _weird_ , you know that, right? Nobody should be all, oooh, dragon! Shit-tons of fun for the whole gang!"

"But _dragons_ ," Herah said, her eyes brightening as she bounced a little where she sat. Dorian dropped down next to Bull, snorting softly. He signed quickly to Sera, who laughed and fell back before springing up to grab his hand and dragging him away from the fire again. The group watched them go, and Vivienne appeared, now dressed in her warm things again and properly dry. 

She watched curiously as Sera and Dorian signed together, laughing back and forth, and said thoughtfully, "Iron Bull, will you and the Chargers be returning to Haven with us, or earlier?"

"Earlier," he said, passing her a plate. Unlike his own, it wasn't spiced within an inch of edibility. "I talked with the Commander before we left, we're going to try and incorporate more of our fighting style with the troops, and we need to be there to make that happen. And that fluffy haired pet Templar that thinks Herah hung the moon- Russet? He wants to see if he can help Dorian with hand to hand in non life threatening situations."

"Is that a problem?" she asked, obviously concerned, and he sighed.

"Sort of. It's a process."

She nodded slowly, frowning. "Well, I hope you get that sorted out," she said at last. "It would be a shame to lose him."

oOo

The all women's party worked out well, and by the time they returned to Haven, everyone was on at least somewhat better terms. Vivienne and Sera, when not actively ready to murder each other, got along great when the topic turned to useful shoes, how boring the bars in Val Royeaux were, and, of all things, something called _water gardening_ , or hydroponics. Vivienne and Herah were both fascinated by it, and even Cassandra admitted it would be useful to know how to grow plants without soil. They were all in good spirits when they descended on Haven.

As usual, one of the Chargers was waiting for them. This time it was Skinner, who shoved a scroll into Herah's hand and promptly took off, the tips of her ears going red as she passed Sera.

"Fit, she is," Sera said absently, watching her go. Krem and Dalish waved from the training grounds. "Think she's with the elfy one?"

"So far as I understand, the Chargers do not exactly "pair up"," Cassandra said, and Sera lit up.

"What, really? Nice."

Seggrit came stumbling out with a long box in his arms, and Vivienne brightened, taking it from him with ease. "Ah, thank you darling," she said, smiling. Sera looked at the box, curious.

"What is it? Some long rod or something? S'skinny."

"You're correct," Vivienne said, and hoisted the box over her shoulder with surprising strength. "A gift, for Dorian."

Herah and Cassandra exchanged slightly worried glances, but left it well enough alone.

oOo

Russet, Dorian had decided, was disgustingly cheerful. Panting, he straightened up after being thrown for the twenty first time, and reluctantly resumed his stance. They had moved out to near what seemed to be a largely abandoned cabin to train, away from the eyes of others, and Grim was supervising. Dorian was fairly certain he should have felt slightly offended that Grim seemed to think that he needed tending, but it was too damn relieving to know he wasn't going to be left alone with a man who could take his magic away.

Not that Russet seemed too keen on that. 

"Come on, Dorian," he said brightly, beckoning. "Rush me."

Dorian groaned, and held his ground. He was exhausted, not just physically. The toll it took on him to push past literal years of training just to be able to grab and throw a man who had (so far) done nothing to harm him was incredibly taxing. He kept expecting to be backhanded, or feel his magic drain away. He held up his hands, head drooping.

"Too much?" Damn the man for sounding so concerned. He nodded.

Grim grunted softly, and he looked up, surprised to see them both smiling. He looked from one to the other, uncertain. 

"You did good," Russet said, smiling proudly, and Grim walked over to do their customary head knock. Dorian relaxed, smiling a little as it dawned on him that Russet was actually pleased. 

They made their way back to camp, Dorian leaning on Grim as they walked. He was a good, solid companion, and Dorian felt any lingering fear he had slowly dissipate in the face of Grim's calm, stalwart self. It also helped that Russet enthusiastically bounded up to Lysette with a rather sad looking elfroot instead of a flower, and she took it with a smile and a laugh. 

To his surprise, Bull was waiting for them by their tent, and as Grim headed to the training group, Bull silently pushed the flap inside so they could speak privately. In the warmth of the tent, Dorian sat on their cot and waited.

"Madame Vivienne's invited us to dinner," Bull said after a while, watching Dorian carefully. "She came personally to invite you, but as you were gone, I said I'd pass the message on. I think it's a good idea to go and talk to her, but if you're not comfortable, we don't have to go."

Dorian frowned, considering. 'I have been hiding,' he admitted, sighing a little. 'It has been several years now since we met. I would think she has changed in that time. My freedom does not hinge on her these days. I cannot stay away forever.'

Bull nodded. "All right. She's apparently decided that living in the underbelly of the Chantry is a great idea, so we'll be eating with her after the evening prayer. And if you change your mind, we don't have to go."

Dorian nodded, standing up to walk over and kiss Bull's cheek.

"Yeah, yeah," he said fondly, and kissed Dorian back, leaving it soothing and slow.

oOo

Vivienne's normal worktable was in the main part of the Chantry, and Bull was less than thrilled when Dorian opened the door to the basement, leading them down into the dark. He wasn't overly fond of enclosed spaces, but shouldered on, a hand on Dorian's back as they walked down a rather steep flight of stairs. Vivienne had set up a table and some food in a rather cell like room that might have once been an office, complete with quite a few books and papers that had been neatly stacked. She smiled when she saw them, a flicker of relief on her face.

"Ah, welcome," she said, and beckoned them in. Dorian bowed politely, managing a tentative smile, and Bull murmured his thanks when he saw a stool had been brought, rather than one of the rickety chairs. For the two humans, the chairs would surely be fine, but his bulk would crush them to kindling.

A rather fine wine made Dorian whistle appreciatively, and Bull dutifully translated as he and Vivienne made careful small talk, both neatly avoiding the fact that they'd met before. Not for the first time, Bull was reminded that Dorian was noble bred. This must have been standard afternoon fare for him, careful political maneuvering around his opponents. Tactics and strategy were among the first things taught the Alti, Krem had warned him, and seeing Dorian get a chance to unsheathe his quick wit and gently prick his claws out was more than a little enticing.

Once they'd finished eating (a surprisingly savory roast duck with some sort of extremely fancy caramelized sauce) Vivienne sat back and said, quite calmly, "I believe I owe you an explanation, as well as my sincere apology."

Dorian stiffened, his eyes fixing on her, and she rose. In the corner stood a long, thin box, and she brought it back to the table. With a flick of her fingers, the nails holding the lid down jerked out, and gathered in her palm.

"When I was younger, I was more a fool," she began, sitting back down and turning the nails in her palm. "I rarely misstep in the Game, after all. But I did misstep, and the greatest of my failures was in courting the favor of Duke Chelevin." She glanced at Bull. "He's a thoroughly slimy man, but powerful. His tastes, like many Orlesians, run to Rivaini dancing girls, and being of Riviani descent, he was more than a little interested in me. Bastien believed it an excellent idea, gaining his favor, so I attended many different parties of his. All rather bland, honestly, and always held on Thursdays." She reached for her wine glass. There was only the faintest tremor in her hand. "And then I received an invitation for a Tuesday party. Honestly, I was quite thrilled. Thursdays were always busy for me." 

Vivienne drank, and Bull watched as Dorian swallowed hard, still as a statue. It took her a moment to regain her composure, taking a slow, measured breath. 

"That would be the salon that Dorian mentioned. I have never had terribly much taste for sex, let alone the things I saw that evening. I had never been exposed to the more, shall we say, unconventional desires." Vivienne looked directly at Dorian, her expression somber. "More than once, Duke Chelevin had made his desires plain to me. When you approached me, I thought you were meant to trick me into his bed. I knew that he had kept mistresses before, but seeing how he treated what I believed to be people playing at slavery and servitude, thinking that he might force me into the same dynamic, I fled."

Dorian sat back, his eyes wide. Bull tracked his hands, the signs flying quick and clear.

"So you really had no idea?"

"Not a clue, darling," she said, her voice dark with old, banked rage. "I was terrified, to put it mildly. And here was this charming, handsome man slightly desperate to talk to me, to get me away from the group."

Dorian reached out, gently squeezing her hand, and she squeezed back.

"I cannot apologize enough," she said quietly, "but I thought that since I couldn't free you then, I might help you maintain your freedom now."

She set the glass down and lifted the lid of the box. Dorian gasped, rising to lift a staff from where it was nestled in straw.

It was a glaive, in the same style as his own, a fat, straightforward blade with a wicked curve. Ripples in the steel indicated the most expensive craftsmanship money could buy, while the handle was a sturdy, perfectly balanced teak. The base, instead of being shod in plain copper as Dorian's was, had an exquisite crystal skull on it, with a gold skull cap and focus gem set into its forehead. More of the blue rippled steel wrapped around it to hold it in place, and it gleamed ominously at them.

"I understand you follow the school of the Necromancers," Vivienne said as Dorian held a fortunes worth of craftsmanship in his hands, eyes wide. "I thought to give you something representative."

Dorian ran his fingers over the teak, and Bull realized that for all he loved the glaive, it was no staff. Vivienne had given him back his greatest weapon.

Dorian tapped the collar, and Bull nodded, reaching up to hold it so they could bear the pain together. Dorian reached out, taking her hand, and looked her firmly in the eye.

"Together," he promised, voice hoarse but strong. "We are strong."

oOo

_To Lady Herah Adaar of the Inquisition;_

_I would like for us to meet at Redcliffe Castle soon. Within the next three weeks would be ideal. I am eager to being negotiations, and if possible, to see my former apprentice once again. I believe the Inquisition could do great things for the Tevinter Imperium, and with the backing of the former rebel mages, I believe I have the ability to see those things through._

_Yours, Magister Gereon Alexius_

oOo

_From FA, Redcliffe, sent via Inquisition Scout_

_It is time. Be cautious. Pax tibi, Dorian._

oOo

"We don't have the manpower to take the castle," Cullen said, exhaustion and frustration lining his face as Herah surveyed the scraps of paper. "We have to find another way in, or give it up and go get the Templars instead."

"Redcliffe in the hands of a Tevinter magister," Cassandra said, her brow furrowing. "This cannot be allowed to stand."

Josephine sighed, shifting her grip on the board she carried. "It's an obvious trap, that much is sure."

"How kind of him to be so obvious," Herah said, standing to take a look at the map from another angle. "He's so complimentary."

"Enough that we are certain he wants to kill you," Leliana said bluntly, and Josephine winced.

Herah considered, looking to Cullen and raising an eyebrow. Her grimaced. "Redcliffe Castle is the most fortified building in Ferelden. It's repelled literal thousands of assaults. You go in there, you'll die. And _we'll_ lose our only way of closing the rifts. I won't allow it."

Leliana pushed off from the wall, frowning. "And if we don't try to meet Alexius, we leave the mages in his hands and leave a foreign hostile power on our doorstep."

Josephine waved her hand. "Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught. An "Orlesian" Inquisitions army marching into Ferelden? It might provoke a war. Our hands are tied."

"The magister has outplayed us," Cullen said darkly, looking down at the table.

Herah frowned, thoughtful. Reaching up, she touched the shaved sides of her hair as she looked at the little miniature of Redcliffe Castle.

"Felix said that Alexius was part of a cult obsessed with me," she said at last, and Cullen raised his head to look at her. "I doubt he'll simply take an apology and leave us be."

Leliana nodded abruptly. "They will remain a threat, and a powerful one, unless we act."

"Then we must do so quickly," Cassandra said, her voice low and hard with menace.

"What of the arl?" Herah asked, picking up the little castle and turning it in her hands.

"After he was displaced, Arl Teagan rode straight to Denerim to petition the crown for aid. I'm certain he will not want our help once the Fereldan Army has laid siege to his castle," Josephine said.

"As if it will fall to siege alone," Cullen said darkly.

Herah looked to Leliana, who inhaled sharply. " _Wait_. There is a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family. It's too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through."

Cullen straightened, and Herah watched him carefully. He nodded after a moment, still frowning a little. "Too risky, still. Those agents would be discovered before they reached the Magister to dispose of him, if they could."

"That's why we need a distraction," Leliana countered, smiling a little. "Perhaps that envoy Alexius wants so badly?"

"Focus their attention on Herah while we take out the Tevinters," Cullen said, looking to her. Herah smiled, showing sharp teeth. He smiled back, a little fond. "It's risky, but it just might work."

Herah nodded, lifting her fingers and letting lighting play through them, purple and vibrant. "We won't get past the wards on the place without some serious, Tevene trained back up," she said quietly, and Dorian rose from the corner like a dark, deadly shadow, coming to stand by her side. He smiled at her, taking the lightning from her grip and crushing it in his palm.

Cullen nodded, focusing on her. "The plan puts you in the most danger. We can't in good conscience order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you'd rather not play the bait."

Herah snorted, touching her braids. "Am I your Herald or not, Commander? While our Lady Nightingale works in shadows, our Ambassador in gold, and you in steel, I must work in the light. I am _kithshok_ now, your figurehead, the vehicle of our machinations. And I will weave my light into such a beautiful web." She gently set the miniature castle down, touching its turret. "We take the castle and our people _back_."

"And who will you take?" Cassandra asked, coming to stand at her side.

Herah straightened her jacket, lifting her head. "The Iron Bull and yourself." She smiled as Cassandra started. "I'm something of a fan of the intimidation factor. And it'll be such a lovely "fuck you" to Tevene gender stereotyping, don't you agree, Dorian?"

Dorian laughed, looping an arm around her shoulders, and together they left to prepare for war.

On his back Dorian's staff gleamed, the crystal skull grinning macabre in the torch light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pax tibi- very roughly, "Peace be unto you"


	15. Into Darkness, Afraid

Thunder boomed, and lightning rolled on the horizon as they properly entered the Hinterlands. Dorian lifted his head, the hood of his cloak falling away as he watched the lightning play on the horizon. His fingers ached with familiarity, the magic singing in his hands, urging him to reach out and call the lightning to him. While he was not a lightning mage, his body more comfortable among the crypts of the dead, lightning did stir something in him. He wanted nothing more than to hop down and let it fill him, pull it into his body until he was lit with fire from the inside.

" _Mon grand,_ " Bull called to him, his voice sweet and teasing, and he tore his eyes away from the sky.

'Yes?' He signed back, smiling when Bull fell back to ride beside him, reaching down so they could hold hands. Princess kept pace with Killer, and would outstrip him with ease if she chose. 

"You mind if I speak Orlesian?" Bull asked, and he shook his head, turning so he could kiss Bull's hand.

'Not when it's you,' he signed, one handed, and Bull's smile turned into something delicate and fond.

Maker, how had he ended up like this?

They reached the camp, and Dorian nodded to Scout Harding as she bustled past to harangue the agents who were all a little saddle sore and walking wide legged from the long trip. Cassandra and Herah were in deep conversation about the moral implications of the Canticle of Transfigurations, of all things, leaving Bull and Dorian to their own devices for a bit. They set up the smaller, more mobile tent they traveled with after the incident with Blackwall, and fed Princess and Killer before taking a walk around the outskirts of the camp. On his back, Dorian could feel the heat from carefully hidden runes on the glaive staff, urging him to let loose, to make use of his gifts. He took Bull's hand instead, and together they made their way to a small ridge away from the rest of the camp. They were still able to see, and be seen, but it was private enough. 

Bull sat on a rock, and Dorian settled between his legs, setting his staff aside but within reach. Calling a ball of lightning, he let it dance between his fingers as he'd learned from the bards, a trick to entice and ensnare. 

"You ready for this?" Bull asked, watching him play with the little lightning ball. Dorian shrugged, and flicked the lightning into the sky. It vanished with a tiny _pop_ , the energy spent. Bull reached down to hold his hands as beyond them, the sky rumbled ominously.

Dorian looked up just as the first wave of rain broke on the mountain behind them, sluicing hard and fast in a sheet. He watched, fascinated, and lifted a hand just in time to cast a barrier over them, a faint green bubble shielding them from the water. Bull looked up in awe, watching the water fall away from them, and Dorian smiled. Bull rose, and Dorian with him.

"Shit," he breathed, looking down at Dorian. "Sometimes I forget, you know. And then you go and do something like this." He looked up again, smiling. "Let it go, Dorian."

Dorian shrugged, and let the barrier wink out of existence. The rain was on them in a second, drenching them, and Bull laughed, throwing his head back to feel the rain on his face. Dorian's smile grew as he watched him, his heart swelling. _So this is love_. 

"Hey, Dorian," Bull said, looking back down at him.

'Yes?'

"Kiss me."

And Dorian did, drenched to the bone, his arms up around Bull's neck to keep him close as the rain poured around them and lightning cracked and spat in the distance.

oOo

_So this is love,_ Dorian thought, eyes closed and mouth open in silent rapture as he held Bull's hands to balance himself, hips driving down hard. The world outside was still, the only ones awake those on watch. When dawn came, they would take Redcliffe Castle. When dawn came, he would face down his former master. When dawn came, they would win or die, but it was not dawn. For now, it was night, and Dorian's world was the soft, ragged pulls of breath in his throat, bitten back snarls and moans dragging out from Bull's lips.

He was safe and secure, hands held but not restricted, chasing crests and waves and feeling lightning in his bones as he rode Bull, body echoing the boom and crash of thunder beyond the tent. His soul seemed to fly, untethered, unrestrained, loose in ways it had never been before. 

_Home is wherever I'm with you_ , he wanted to say, the weight of leather at his neck keeping him silent as his thrusts grew more and more uncoordinated. _Home, home, home, you make me home, you are my heart, amatus, amatus, dearest beloved, I don't know what I'll do when you're gone, but for now you are mine, my heart, mine to love and protect-_

He thought of the bone deep _thump_ of waves at high tide, the ones that seem to draw the soul from the body, and that was how he felt as he came apart, his soul fracturing and splintering with pain and need and so much love.

 _Yours_ was on his lips, and he mouthed it as Bull shuddered beneath him. 

_I am yours, and tomorrow we go to war._

oOo

The agents were gone by the time they rose and finished bathing in the nearby pool. Dorian didn't bother to try and hide the bruise on his back, put there by kind teeth, and as Bull sat in the water he scrubbed the horns until they gleamed. The glaive staff was a comforting weight on his back as they dressed and began the ride to Redcliffe Castle, Dorian beside Herah instead of Bull.

Cassandra was oddly quiet as the rode along, and instead of chatting with Herah, she fell back to exchange quiet words with Bull. Dorian ignored her, focusing on Herah. She was paler than normal, her hands tight on the reins, and he reached over to gently touch them. She smiled at him, a little strained, and let them relax.

He wanted to tell her it would be over soon, but hardly could, so he settled for squeezing her hand reassuringly as they reached the base of the castle. A quick spell located the traps, and he disarmed them with ease. Alexius hadn't bothered to change them from the kind he kept on his more illicit copies of porn that Dorian had located in the library. Almost a pity, honestly. They were easy to dismantle without anyone spotting, and he had plenty of practice. Nothing like carefully planned blackmail.

His magic flowed easily with the new staff. He put it away with almost reluctance, and felt the heat of the runes against his back again. This was a weapon _made_ for him, and it sang happily in response to his magic. The balance was excellent as well, and while Bull had been less than thrilled to hold a mages staff no matter the innuendos he made, he'd been quite impressed as well.

They tethered the mounts at the base of the castle, Princess doing her customary shriek of annoyance at being so rudely detained, and Dorian took a moment to soothe her. She growled at him the whole time, calming only when he offered her a bit of dried meat. 

He tried not to feel like he was abandoning her as he walked away, hearing her little cries of distress that she didn't get to follow him. Bull squeezed his shoulder, and Dorian nodded his thanks before taking his place as part of the head of the party.

oOo

The first time Dorian met Felix was after his debut fight in the Tevene Provings. It had been quite the fight, and Felix had emerged triumphant, dripping with the blood of his challenger and his hair tied up in a tight, neat bun like most others. He'd gained his first scar that day from a sharp knife, a long curve along his hipbone, and that was more or less how they met.

He'd been in the Alexius house all of five minutes when he saw Felix slip away to one of the little gardens. Deciding to take a chance that the man have something of an interest, and also to get away from the endless yammering of some magister who desperately wanted to talk to him about his choice of colleges, he'd followed. He'd found him minutes later, clutching his side as the wound reopened.

If not for the bleeding and fact that Dorian had rather _more_ in the anatomy than Felix cared for, it would have been a romantic first meeting. The willow tree of the garden he'd taken refuge under swayed in the breeze, stone fountains were bubbling, and the bench was intricately carved with scenes of a romantic nature. (Specifically, desire demons seducing a magister and his wife. You took your love where you could get it, in Tevinter.)

"Of all the idiot things," Dorian had said bluntly, batted Felix's hands away from the wound, and promptly tore off his sleeve to hold it down while he worked what little healing magic he had into his hands. Felix had stared at him blankly for a minute, watching as Dorian carefully pulled the skin back together by sheer force of will.

"You look good, asymmetrical," he said out of nowhere, and Dorian looked up, askance.

"I just destroyed a suit worth more than some tailors _lives_ and that's what you say?" he demanded, and Felix smiled.

"You're right," he said, his voice calm and contrite. "My apologies. I certainly should have said thank you first."

Dorian wasn't totally certain what to say to that, and focused instead on closing the wound.

They ignored the rest of the party after that, sneaking into the kitchen so Felix could beg some candied dates, bo kho, and thick, warm raisin bread from the kitchen servants, who all fussed over him and Dorian before shoving them in a corner where they were left alone.

Alexius found them after half the party was done, and had smiled fondly as he saw his son chatting with Dorian, who simply grinned up at him and demanded to know his opinions on Felix's opponent's fiance, wasn't her hair just _dreadful_? Felix laughed, leaning against the wall and looking at Dorian like he was something precious, something to be cherished, and Dorian knew he wanted to stay in this house forever when Alexius said somberly, "Absolutely horrendous," and burst into laughter.

oOo

The helmed faces of the guard at the door made Dorian's skin crawl, but years of practice kept his expression clear, with a side of haughty. The skull like mask, with its tall, curved spikes on top, was rather unnerving to look at. The light glittered off of it, turning the wearer alien as he watched them approach. The elbow spikes looked nasty, and well used. Trained, then, largely in martial arts. The man carried no staff.

Herah stopped before him, staring imperiously down her nose despite being slightly shorter than the man. Dorian was impressed that she'd picked it up so well.

A blonde man in soft blue approached, and Dorian felt a whisper of sympathy. A slave, certainly, bought for his "exotic" looks. Likely he'd been caught here in Ferelden, and sold around until he ended up under the Venatori's thumb. He didn't know the man, but he knew his kind.

"Announce us," Herah said, her voice polite.

"The magisters invitation was for Mistress Adaar and Lord Dorian only," the man said, his eyes glinting sharply as he looked over the group. "The others remain here."

"The Iron Bull is Dorian's interpreter," Herah said without batting an eye. "Seeker Pentaghast accompanies me wherever I go." She shrugged slightly, and the man frowned but nodded. Turning, he led them up the stairs, the guards following. Dorian's skin crawled as they approached Alexius' makeshift throne, the flames blazing behind it and Felix standing beside him. Alexius had never been a man given to overt displays of power. He preferred to work from the shadows, nudging pieces into place with careful political machinations. He and Vivienne would have been an unrivaled terror upon the Magisterium.

"My lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived," the man said, his mouth twitching slightly in distaste. 

Alexius rose smoothly, and Dorian felt an ache in his chest for the man he'd once known. He looked so much older these days. "Ah, my friends! So good to see you again. And your associates, of course. Dorian, it is good to see you well."

Dorian smiled, inclining his head politely.

"I'm certain that we can work out an arrangement that is equitable to all parties," he continued smoothly, and Dorian felt the stirrings of deep unease as Felix locked eyes with him, head shaking ever so slightly. Grand Enchanter Fiona stepped forward, her face drawn.

"Are we mages to have no say in deciding our fate?" she demanded, her voice hard, and Dorian winced. _Welcome to slavery, hope you enjoy your stay._

"Fiona," Alexius said in his most patronizing tones, the ones that set Dorian's teeth on edge, "you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives."

Herah raised her hand, smiling slightly. "Magister Alexius, please," she said, her tone rather serene. "Given the state of the world right now, more heads are better than merely two. I would welcome Grand Enchanter Fiona's advice as well."

Alexius nodded, and sat back down. Felix fixed his eyes on Dorian, who nodded slightly. Felix carried his tonfas, gleaming in their belt loop. He was expecting a fight.

"The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them," Alexius said, trailing his fingers over the wood of his throne. "So, what shall you offer in exchange?"

"Well, frankly," Herah said, looking decidedly innocent, "nothing. I have every intention of taking the mages and waltzing out of her, just as you waltzed in and took them in the first place."

Felix turned, his face set. "She knows everything, father."

Alexius paled, his fingers tightening on the throne. "Felix, what have you done?"

Herah stepped forward, her magic grinding like gears against Dorian's, the Mark's own magic oiling it along. She was opening herself to the Fade, posturing against Alexius as a direct challenge. Dorian nearly flattened in response, the pure, harsh swirling of power around her enough to leave him uneasy. She had none of the delicate refinement of Fiona and Vivienne, or his own controlled, tamped down powder keg. Felix's bulky walls of control and Gereon's tendrils of ice were nothing in comparison to the raw talent she commanded. "You wanted me here," she said, flaring hard enough to make Alexius flinch slightly. "Why?"

Alexius snarled slightly, and Dorian felt his magic answer, the familiar tick-tick-tick of growing ice crystals laced with chronomancy pushing back against Herah. "You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark- a gift you don't even understand- and think _you're_ in control?" He demanded, and Dorian flared as a questing tendril reached for her, pushing the finest line of dread he could into his display. Felix's defenses shored up, as did Fiona's careful cage. "You are nothing but a mistake."

"If I'm a mistake, what was the Breach meant to accomplish?" Herah demanded, taking another step forward. 

"It was to be a triumphant moment. For the Elder One! For this _world_ ," Alexius said.

Felix stepped forward, his hand on the tonfas. "Father, listen to yourself. Do you know what you sound like?"

 _You sound like the villianous cliche everyone expects us to be_ , Dorian thought, and some of that must have shown on his face. Alexius turned to him, pleading in his eyes.

"Dorian, I offered you a chance at this, before we lost you, though I doubt you remember it. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He could raise the Imperium from its own ashes."

Herah snorted, and Felix's mouth twitched up in a smile as she said, "Blah, blah, my cult's better than yours. I've heard that a thousand times."

'Well,' he signed to Bull, his hands a bit shaky, 'it's a chance for the Imperium to really one up that whole 'starting the blight' thing.' 

Bull hid his grin.

"He will make the world bow to mages once more," Alexius insisted, the firelight turning his skin more sallow. "We shall rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas."

Fiona stepped forward, rage in every line of her face. "You cannot involve my people in this!"

Dorian could feel his heart pounding, and he frantically signed, Bull translating for him.

"Alexius, this is exactly what you and Dorian talked about never wanting to happen," he said, catching the outrage on Dorian's face. "Why would you support this?"

Felix reached out, taking his father's arm. "Father, let it _go_. Let the Southern mages fight the Breach. Leave the Venatori. Let it go, and let us go _home_."

Alexius' face crumpled, lowering as if he wanted to rest his head on his son's shoulder. Dorian's heart almost stopped as he heard the words. "No. It's the only way, Felix. He can save you!"

_A house, silent, funeral flowers. Alexius in all red robes of mourning, his wife dead, a shouting match that leaves Dorian bolting from the house. Felix may not live, they are saying, the end of the line so soon after it begins._

"Save me?" Felix demanded, stepping back from him, and Dorian wanted to scream. He survived, but he hadn't, tainted, _blighted_.

Alexius paced as the group watched. "There is a way. The Elder One promised me. If I undo the mistakes at the temple..."

Felix looked pained, and Dorian's heart ached as he said, "I'm going to die, Father. You have to accept that."

"No! Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman's life!" Alexius demanded, but Herah made no move to defend herself. Dorian bit back a wince at the sounds of necks snapping, and bodies crumpling to the floor.

"Your men are dead, Alexius," Herah said, not unkindly. 

He looked between them all, eyes wild, and snarled, "You... should never have existed! You were a mistake!" Lifting his hand, his power surged, and Dorian saw the tell tale sign of teal light that was chronomancy.

"No!" he yelled, the word tearing from his throat and the collar burning viciously in response. He threw his gift at the light, hoping against hope that he hadn't forgotten some tiny piece of the time magic theory that would kill him, or physically tear him apart. 

It hit and merged, and a deep, endless pool of black opened up, teal light on its sides.

Everything went dark.


	16. Ruin and Despair

Dorian must have hit his head harder than he expected, and came to in foul, murky water.  A shout of voices had him on his feet in a heartbeat, attacking more or less automatically as Herah rose beside him to help, her short staff walloping one of the guards before electrocuting him.  They fell hard and fast, leaving him and Herah standing, panting, in water up to their knees.  Strange red lyrium grew out of the room, and the two looked at each other.

“Well, shit,” Herah said eloquently.

He let out a bark of a laugh, and said without thinking, “That about sums it up, yes.”

There was a pause as they both stared at each other, then Dorian’s hand flew up to grab the collar. Nothing had happened.  No warning pulse at all.  His eyes widened, and he stared at Herah, who looked like she was about to either faint or start screaming for joy.

“Well then,” he croaked out, fighting down the shock and panic.  “I can speak.”

“Yay?” she said nervously, eyes trained on the collar.  “Do you want me to-“

“Please,” he said fervently, and she stepped over, gripping it and closing her eyes.  He felt the faintest surge of her magic, and then it was gone.

“Well,” she said, stepping back and looking utterly spooked, “it’s not broken.  It’s frozen, like it’s been tricked into thinking time has passed. Maybe something to do with what Alexius did?  And where _are_ we, anyway?”

“I think it's displacement,” Dorian said, taking a deep breath. “The closest confluence of arcane energy, perhaps? Not what Alexius intended, certainly. The rift would have pulled us quite hard.”

“Last I remember, we were in the castle hall,” Herah said, nodding.

“Then- oh, of course. Not where, _when_. My collar thinks time has past, so we must have been thrown into the future,” he said with a smile, relieved to have an understanding. “Alexius would have used the amulet as a focus and poof, here we are.”

“Er,” Herah said, gripping her staff tightly. “Is that even possible?”

“Normally, no, but Alexius has clearly taken our work to exciting new heights.” He sighed, touching the collar. “I wish I'd been there to see it. We've dealt with the time warping rifts before. This time, we simply passed through one.”

“What do you think Alexius meant to do, then?” she asked, and he grimaced.

“I believe his intent was simply to remove you from time completely. If that happened, no fixing the rift, no obnoxious little Qunari messing with the Temple of Ashes, no problem with his Elder One, whoever that is. Or whatever. He must have been made reckless by your show of power in the hall, and tossed us in before it was properly ready. I countered it as best I could, and here we are now.” He gestured to the glowing red crystals. “Make sense?” 

She nodded grimly. “As much as it can. Let's see what we can do about this whole mess. Maybe there are others still alive in here that can help us.”

Unbidden, his mind flashed to Bull, and he nodded, his throat squeezing. “Yes,” he managed, “that would be good.”

oOo

Dorian fought his way through the castle almost unthinking, going where he was ordered and cutting down demons, men, and monsters without pause at Herah's direction. They found Cassandra first, warped and infected by the red lyrium. They broke her out and made their way deeper into the castle, the lyrium a constant, uncomfortable thrum against their skin.

When they heard the singing, Cassandra had to grab Herah to keep her from charging down the stairs. They descended slowly, the water sucking at their shoes, what looked like blood spooling through the dark waves. The voice had the same uncomfortable warble as Cassandra's, and Dorian could feel the first few fingers of pure dread hooking into him as they passed the door to the cells. Beyond a massive outcropping of red lyrium, there was a cell, and within the cell stood The Iron Bull.

“Bull,” Herah called, her voice breaking a little.

He turned, surprised. At least his face was the same, though the noxious red mist clung to him as well.

“You're alive,” he said curiously, walking to the door. “You're supposed to be dead. There was a burn on the floor and everything.”

“Alexius sent us forward in time,” Herah said, looking around for a rock to bash the lock with. “This is our future.”

“Well it's my present, in my past, I definitely saw you both die,” he said, considering them both. “I have to say, the living thing is a vast improvement.” He leaned against the bars, smiling at Dorian. “Hey, beautiful. You're a sight for sore eyes.”

Dorian blinked back a few tears of relief, stepping forward. “How about a voice for old ears?” He teased weakly, and Bull brightened. He reached through the bars, and Dorian clutched his hand tightly as Herah did her best to break the lock.

“So you can speak now?” Bull asked, gently running his thumb over the tender skin on his wrist. Dorian nodded, not trusting himself to do so, and Bull pressed his forehead to the bars. “Missed you like mad, sweetheart. It's been a long year.”

“It's been a year?” He asked, holding him all the tighter. Bull nodded, reaching out with his other hand to gently stroke his cheek. Dorian leaned into it, some of the panic and terror easing at the familiar gesture. “I'm sorry to have left you to deal with this alone.”

Bull shrugged, his thumb smoothing over Dorian's cheek. “You just would have been taken like the rest. It's better that you weren't here.” The lock finally gave, and Dorian reluctantly let go of Bull to let him step out and stretch.

“We're going to go and fight Alexius,” Herah said as Cassandra watched them from where she waited by the stairs, a look out.

“Alexius isn't the one you need to worry about,” Bull said, his eye darkening. “It's his Elder One. He killed the Empress of Orlais and used the confusion to launch an invasion of the South. His army was made entirely of demons. You ever fought a demon army? I really, really don't recommend it.”

“I'll take that under advisement,” Herah said, and Dorian couldn't help but laugh.

oOo

They fought their way through rifts in the courtyard, the strange woman that was Leliana but wasn't right a near silent presence with a bow. Dorian didn't want to think about how they had found her, and so he didn't, carefully keeping his mind away from probing those thoughts as if they were a wound. Bull picked up an axe somewhere along the way, Cassandra a sword and shield, and Dorian did his ample best to keep them both protected while Herah took down everything that dared move against them with wave after wave of lightning and fire. They made their way inside again, picking up shards, information, and destroying all in their path.

The blood magic runes and ritual circles were the worst of it for him, even more than the glowing red light that coalesced around Bull like a living thing. With each one they passed, he could feel the drip of blood down his arm, the taste of copper on his tongue, and he wondered which demon it would have been that came to steal a piece of him away. He was torn between pride and desire. He had pride in who he was, and his father well knew that, so likely it would be the piece stolen from him. But then, he desired men, so perhaps desire would come and take that away. With each of his former countrymen they slaughtered like so many cattle, he felt satisfaction burn deeper in his bones.

It felt rather cathartic, and when everything was gathered up and they stood in front of the doorway to the Great Hall, he felt the first real bone deep ache of exhaustion.

Bull went and sat down on the shallow steps, looking blankly out at the large glyph from an old blood ritual. Dorian sat beside him, watching as blood and gore dripped off of the axe onto the floor with a disconnected sort of interest.

“Listen,” Bull said as Herah worked to gather herself, quietly muttering words in a corner, “if some shit like this ever happens to past me, you beat me over the head until I listen and either make for the Anderfels or Par Vollen. One has Grey Wardens, and the other the greatest military shy of the ancient Imperium.”

“It'll be the Anderfels,” Dorian said gloomily, leaning on his shoulder so Bull would wrap an arm around him. “I don't want to be collared again.”

“Anderfels it is then,” Bull said quietly, and they listened to the faint clank of chains and bones above them. It was reassuring just to have that solid weight around him, even with the uncomfortable smell of red lyrium hanging around Bull like a curse. He smelled _wrong,_ the lyrium warping away the familiar, soothing scents of leather and metal, the coppery tang of old blood and the rich, complicated smell of skin. He pressed his face against Bull's side, letting him run his fingers through Dorian's hair.

Bull cleared his throat, and Dorian looked up. “There's some things that you'll need to say, to past me,” Bull said, his voice just as warped as his smell. “Important things. Not right when you get back, but in time. Wait a while, you'll find the right time to talk about it. You need to ask about dragon teeth. It's important. Give me time, I can't- The words will need time to be put in place. Wait until after the Breach is closed.”

“Dragon teeth,” Dorian repeated, taking Bull's mutilated hand and linking his own with it. “I'll remember.”

Herah finally cleared her throat, and they stood, Dorian helping Bull up and going to stand before the door. Cassandra closed her eyes, murmuring a quick prayer, while Leliana looked on with patient, dead eyes.

It was time.

The door opened, and they stepped through, armed to the teeth and ready to attack.

The Great Hall was rather barren, compared to the rest of the place. There were still sigils on the floor, and people dangling from chains from the ceiling, but all in all it was rather clean, and the fire beyond the dais was just as stoked as ever. Alexius stood gazing into it, apparently uninterested in them. There was a ghoul wearing Felix's face on the dais as well, shifting uncomfortably back and forth. Its head swung to look at them as they approached, dull eyes fixing on Dorian for a moment before looking away, uninterested. It stayed crouched down, arms up in front of it as if to ward off blows, and Dorian felt a rush of pity for the poor thing.

Herah stepped forward, the light from the fires making her cheekbones high and sharp. For such a small Qunari, she filled the room, youth stolen from her by the faint lines already haunting her face.

“It's over, Alexius,” she said calmly, her voice as solid an unmovable as a mountain. “It's time for you to pay for your crimes.”

Alexius didn't turn, merely watched the fires. “And finally, you are here,” he said quietly, his voice echoing through the room. “I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn't destroyed you.” He went still, his head bowed. “My _final_ failure.”

“Was it worth it?” Dorian asked, his voice breaking a little from the strain of so much speaking in the past little while. “All you've done to the world? To yourself?”

It was so hard to reconcile this man with the one he had first met. So strange to think of this being the same Gereon Alexius who had married for love, who had laughed and joked with him over wine, who had fought until he had legal control over Dorian's accounts from his father, and froze them until he stopped drinking, until he focused, until he had created _time magic_ with him. Gereon Alexius had saved his life, and Dorian had squandered that gift.

“It doesn't matter now,” Alexius said, unmoving. “All we can do is wait for the end.”

The words rang through the room, and Dorian felt a coil of dread unwind within him. Herah's eyes narrowed, and she took a step forward.

“The end? What's ending?”

Alexius chuckled, turning his head a little so he could look at them a bit. “The irony that you should appear now, of all the possibilities. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought?” His voice had raised, agony in his words. "Ruin and death! There is nothing else. The Elder One comes for me, comes for us all.”

Too late, Alexius saw the shade of Leliana step forward and drag the ghoul up, a knife to its throat. The dead eyes blinked, its head lolling helpless against her shoulder. Dorian doubted its legs were even strong enough to support it properly, walking almost certainly beyond it. Alexius stepped to the side, his eyes wild, hand outstretched.

“Felix!”

_Felix, coaxing him into eating when everything was too dark inside. Felix in the Coliseum, dripping with blood, victorious despite the wounds on his side. Felix, dancing into his room to gleefully tell him of the girl who'd finally smiled at him, the one with the sweetest blue eyes. Felix, delighted by little sculptures of ice and insisting Dorian teach him to make caricatures of the Magisters._

“That's Felix?” Dorian demanded, the anguish welling up in him and expelling as the ghoul stared blankly, unseeing, ahead. “Makers breath, Alexius, what have you done!?”

Alexius couldn't turn his head away from the shell of his only child, hand still outstretched and his long, bladed staff now in hand. “He would have died, Dorian! I saved him.” His hand was trembling now, his eyes wide with panic. “Please, don't hurt my son. I'll do anything you ask.”

“There's nothing left there, any more,” Dorian said, his heart breaking. 

“Make it merciful, Leliana,” Herah said, and Alexius screamed as Leliana drew the blade across what had once been Felix's throat. He fell without so much as a whimper, a limp, dead husk on the floor.

Alexius blazed with light, and the fight began in earnest.

Dorian remembered very little of the fight itself. He recalled rifts opening. Snapshots of memory stuck out to him- Bull with his axe raised. Cassandra facing down a demon. Herah, lit from behind, her eyes wild and pained, tears streaking her cheeks as she raised her staff. Leliana's dead, decaying face full of hate as she drew back a shot. He remembered that Herah struck the final blow, Alexius dying on the dais itself, sprawled inches from Felix, his face tipped up as Herah's lightning slammed into him and snuffed what little remained of his life away.

He knelt by the body, the world snapping back into focus, and he gently closed the ghouls eyes before Alexius'. The amulet was thankfully still on his body, and he picked it up, closing his fist around it. Herah sat beside him, blood on her face and exhaustion lining every inch of her body.

“Oh, Felix,” he whispered, unable to look away from the pair of them. “All those lies, all the justifications, and he lost you long, long ago.”

Herah reached out, squeezing his shoulder.

He looked down at the amulet, turning it over in his hands. “Seven long years of slavery,” he said, rising as Bull and Cassandra came up behind them. “Seven long, hard, miserable years, and I have had quite a lot of time to think about what we should have done differently when we made this accursed thing.” He sighed, rising, and slung his staff across his back. “Give me an hour to work out what spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour?” Leliana demanded even as Herah nodded. “That's impossible! You must go now!”

Right on time, a bone rattling shriek rent the air, shaking the entire castle. Cassandra stepped back, her faced tipped up to the ceiling and her eyes narrowing. She looked to Bull, and nodded. He sighed, nodding back, and Dorian looked between the two, panic making it hard to swallow.

“No,” he said shakily, his voice going thin and thready. “No, no, please, _no_.”

Bull stepped forward, taking his hand and pulling him over to one of the pillars, away from the others.

“I made you a promise,” he said, as Dorian felt tears begin to sting his eyes, rage and frustration and grief warring for dominance. “And now, the time has come. It's too early, and too much, too little, too late, but I need you to keep your side of the promise. That you'll let me go.”

“I don't want to leave you,” Dorian said, his voice cracking and breaking.

“Look at me,” Bull whispered, his hand catching Dorian's cheek to tilt his head up. “Fuck, I'm already dead, I just don't have the sense to lay down yet. It's like Varric was always going on about- that great long character arc, the plot that comes to an end. This is the end of my story, this time. The spy from Par Vollen lays down his life for a Tal Vashoth saarebas and a former Tevinter slave. It'll make one hell of a story.”

“I love you,” Dorian burst out, the tears finally falling, streaming long and hard down his cheeks. “I won't have you die without hearing that from me. I love you. I've loved you since that first night, when you told me no. I've loved you every damn moment since, and I don't want to watch you die twice, _amatus_.”

“It's easy,” Bull said, wiping away the tears with his thumb. “Dying, well. I'm told it's like falling asleep. I imagine it's a little more complicated than all that. I'm yours, until it's time to let me go, and it's time to let go, _kadan_.”

“What does that mean?” Dorian asked, and Bull smiled.

“You'll learn,” he said, leaning down to tenderly kiss Dorian's forehead. He closed his eyes, let the tears stream down his face, washing away the blood and grime there. “One day, I'll tell you.”

'Yours,' Dorian signed as Bull pulled back, blinking through the tears. Bull nodded, and stepped away, pulling his axe from his shoulders and walking with Cassandra to the door.

“You have as much time as I have arrows,” Leliana said, her voice hard as stone, and Dorian pulled on every ounce of rage and grief that soared through him and threw his mind into chronomancy.

He had no clue how much time had passed when the rift begins to sputter and churn into life, teal crackling with black as they stand on the dais, doing their best to be in exactly the right spot. He heard the screams as he worked, the familiar sounds of demons outside, all hell breaking loose. The door burst open and he made the mistake of turning to see. Cassandra's body was tossed through, falling like a rag doll to the floor, her neck snapped. Bull's was close behind, his horns snapped off, face ravaged, good leg gone and his own axe buried in his heart. 

Leliana was saying something as Herah sobbed, her eyes fixed on the tableau as demons poured in, stalking to the woman as she fought. They fell, one after the other, and the rift grew and grew. Dorian forced his eyes back to it, tears unable to come. He was all cried out, and now, he had to work. The rift stabilized, and he turned just in time to see Leliana die. 

Herah looked to him, and he was struck by how young she was. Her tear stained face stared back at him, grief warring with budding rage. He grabbed her hand, and together they leapt into the black.

There was the disorienting feeling of a hook around his heart, jerking him through a tunnel, and suddenly they were blinking in the light of Redcliffe Castle, free of the cling of old blood and corpses. Alexius fell to his knees, and Dorian was fairly certain Herah made some sort of smart remark while his eyes immediately went to Bull. 

Bull looked back, concerned, and Dorian's lips trembled as the Inquisition agents took Alexius away, Felix staying on the dais beside them.

Herah turned, grabbing his collar and closing her eyes. The pulse of magic against his skin felt clean and refreshing, untainted by the horrific red lyrium.

“You have the same amount of time as we were there before it's back to normal,” she said, letting go, and he nodded, bolting down the steps and into Bull's arms.

“Surprise,” he mumbled against Bull's chest. “Never let me do that again.”

Bull held him tight, chuckling a little. “Hey, look at you. Talking. That's new.”

“Thank the Maker that's over with,” he said, pressing his face firmly into Bull's skin and inhaling. Ah, yes, much better. The world back to rights.

Of course, because nothing in his life could be nice and orderly, soldiers began marching into the room. Dorian pulled back, feeling Bull going for the belt knife at his hip with slow, but certain movements. The soldiers lined up, and the King of Ferelden strode in, looking far from pleased about the situation. On the dais, he could see Herah wince.

oOo

_Five minutes_ , Herah thought with longing as King Alistair stopped and glared at Grand Enchanter Fiona, who looked just shy of terrified. _Five minutes to recover before the next great catastrophe hits, is that too much to ask?_

“You can manage it,” Felix murmured from just behind her, and she almost jumped. Apparently she hadn't been thinking. He smiled at her, and she nodded, straightening her gear as best she could and ignoring the demon bits still stuck to it.

“King Alistair,” Grand Enchanter Fiona said as Herah stepped down so she was on the same level as the king. 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona.” His voice was hard. “I'd like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality. When my dear wife and I offered you sanctuary, we did not give you leave to drive our people from their homes.”

“King Alistair, we never intended-”

“In light of your actions, good intentions are no longer enough,” he said firmly, his eyes narrowing. “You and your followers have worn out your welcome. Leave Ferelden, or we'll be forced to make you leave. We want you gone by sundown tomorrow.”

Grand Enchanter Fiona stepped back, her eyes wide with panic.

“But- we have hundreds who need protection. Where will we go?”

Herah cleared her throat, and tried to look as authoritative as possible when one was still covered in blood, guts, and assorted other gore. “The Inquisition still needs mages to combat the Breach. You'll be our allies, unless you intent to show us the same kindness you've granted King Alistair. Certainly that is better than what the Venatori offered you.”

Fiona nodded, a bit wary. “It appears we have no choice, then. We will join the Inquisition. I shall go and inform my people of the change, and to prepare themselves.”

Herah nodded and watched her go. King Alistair was about to turn and leave when a thought struck her and she said, her voice only wavering a little, “King Alistair, a word, if you please.”

He gave her a slow once over, as if judging whether he'd use his time well, and followed her over to the pillars against the wall, away from immediate earshot. He was a handsome man, in a very Fereldan way. He and Cullen looked somewhat alike, though Cullen's face seemed longer, and something about King Alistair seemed both lighter and sharper than her Commander. He was just a bit shorter than her, without her horns, and his eyes were deceptively blank as they looked her over as if she were a particularly fascinating puzzle that was vexing him.

“I'm pretty sure you're the smallest Qunari I've ever seen,” he said with a surprising smile. “It's cute, honestly. Most of the time I'm stepping back to look them in the eyes.”

“Have you met many Qunari?” she asked, a bit surprised. 

He shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “Enough. I traveled with one for a while. Sten. Not a cheerful fellow, likes kittens and cookies. He's Arishok now.”

“Well then,” Herah said blankly. “I- huh. He likes kittens?”

Alistair grinned, his eyes bright. “Small, delicate killing machines, as he put it. He adores them.” He crossed his arms, cocking his head. “So, my lady Herald, what is it that you want?”

“To help,” she said bluntly. “I'd like your permission to continue our business in the Hinterlands. Bann Teagan's people are doing the best they can to get by, and we're doing what we can to keep them going. There are cultists in the hills, pockets of Venatori everywhere, and enough murderous Templars to take down that none of us feel our job is done. I've been given a duty, and I'll be damned if I don't see it through.”

Alistair considered her for a long moment, and finally smiled, rather soft. “You remind me of my wife,” he said, and. Oh. That was not where she had expected that to go. “No, no, not like that, you're far too young. But in the sense of duty, and honor, and all those good things. Perhaps a bit more warlike, though. She cries when she tosses out dead flowers, it's very sweet.”

“Thank you?” Herah hazarded, and he laughed.

“Do you know what the majority of leadership is?” He asked, still smiling.

“So far, it seems to be not getting blown up,” she said, and he laughed again. The laugh lines by his eyes crinkled, and she realized that he was only perhaps thirty, the same age as Cullen and Dorian, barely ten years older than herself with a whole wars more experience. And yet, he still found joy, after everything he'd seen.

“That's a big part of it, yes, but what it is mostly is compromise. Oh, certainly, I could order my people to do this and that. I have the banns, and the arls, and even the Teryns, but the only reason I have them is because of the crown I wear and the fact that someone, somewhere, has to be the scapegoat when it all falls down. As you've just seen, some times I have to be the bad guy.” For a minute, something flashed under the smile, and Herah felt breathless with the glimpse of it. There were teeth and claws under all that velvet and fur, a warrior buried under responsibility- The Beast, waiting for the moment to strike. “Having witnessed first hand how that sort of thing goes, I try to avoid being a tyrant. My lady is quite good at it. Unless I want to call a Landsmeet every six weeks to catch up, I have to trust them, and they have to trust me. So that means my giving of funds to dredge the Redcliffe harbor and building fancy bridges, and them listening when I tell them that the Alienage of Denerim is to have a bann. It's a delicate dance, and most of the time, no one knows the step and the tune is made up.”

Herah nodded, listening intently.

“When people come to you, and they will, and they tell you that they want to give of their time and their services, you let them. You watch them, and closely, for very few people give of themselves without some serious motivation behind it, but you let them.” Alistair looked at her with somber intent, no hint of the smiling, laughing man now. “These are hard and dangerous days, Lady Herald, and my people have it bad enough as it is. Do your work. Bring what peace you can. But above all else, learn the art of leadership. When it all falls down, and it inevitably will, it'll land on your shoulders like a blade. And you had best hope you have good armor.”

“I'll remember,” she promised, and he nodded, eyes intent. 

“I think you will.”

The moment hung in the air, and then King Alistair brightened. “So, with that all out of the way, I have to know. How do you feel about _cheese_?”


	17. Everybody Talks

Herah left with Felix and Cassandra in tow, Alexius heavily shackled and guarded as he was taken away. Bull and Dorian watched from the battlements, and when the group trailed out of sight, Dorian turned to him.

“I have... There are many things that I should say to you,” he began, his voice cracking. “But now is not the time. There- well. There may never be a time, honestly, but right now particularly is a bad one. There are so many words all jumbled up in my mouth, and I want nothing more than to tell you everything, but I can't. Not today. Not now. Not here, while the sun still shines and it's supposed to be a day that we take a piece of the victory from the Elder One.”

“You aren't making much sense,” Bull said quietly, sitting on a crate. Dorian ran his hands through his hair, turning on his heel to pace.

“I watched you die today,” he said, spinning abruptly to pin him with a stare. “You died. You kissed me on the forehead, and you left, and I saw you dead on the floor so that I might live. I saw Cassandra dead, and Leliana gutted in all the worst ways, and a horde of beasts came, and there was blood magic everywhere. Seven long, brutal years under the collar, seven damn years that I was nothing but a piece of excess furniture that tended to move and scream when you hit it, and you died for me. You fucking _died_ for me, you absolute bastard, and I don't deserve it. I am not a good man, The Iron Bull. I have been a terrible one, I have- there is blood on my hands, innocent blood. Because I was a foolish child, and thought that I knew what love was, and I paid the price.”

“Dorian,” Bull started, and he lifted a hand, cutting him off.

“No, let me speak. Let me say it. There were- men. Many, many men, some good, most bad, that I took up with while I was younger. And the last, he- because of me, because I thought we were safe, that we had been discreet enough, he and his men were killed. I can't tell you what happened after that- well, I can, but I won't. I- I was caught less than a mile from my home, and I considered it a relief. Shit.” He gripped his hair, struggling to breathe, and forced himself to sit next to Bull. “I don't scar easily.”

“I'm aware.”

“You have no idea,” he said sharply, letting go of his hair and straightening up. He was still covered with grime and gore, and had to reek of demon filth and blood. “You don't know how fast my body heals. I have no real healing magic but, Maker, it's effective. That was taken advantage of many times.”

He looked out over the battlements, eyes fixing on the mountains beyond. The storm was lingering, far, far in the distance. It seemed so long ago since they had been kissing in the rain.

“There will come a day,” he said at last as Bull watched him, “that I will tell you everything. Let me keep my secrets, for now.”

Bull nodded, and pulled him in to kiss his temple. Dorian shivered apart in his arms, the tears making new tracks down his cheeks.

oOo

“So, you're coming with us?” Herah asked as Felix helped her load a wagon with the pitifully small belongings of some of the mages.

Felix sighed, rubbing his forehead as he wrangled a chest into place. “Let's be blunt,” he said, pausing to look at her somberly. “I'm dying. My dying was sped up quite a bit when not so much as a year after being blighted, my dearest friend disappeared off the face of the Earth, presumed dead. I went to his funeral. I sang the funeral rites. If you think I'm leaving his side until I'm ash, you're dead wrong. If you must, collar me. But let me fight at his side.” He stopped, looking up at the sky and closing his eyes. “Every time I see him, it's like the sun coming out after a monsoon.” He straightened up, smiling as one of the young apprentices handed him a brightly embroidered bag with all due reverence. “Marcella, has Senior Enchanter Maurice found his robes? Or Enchanter Norris his nice focus stone?”

Marcella, a tiny girl of perhaps 12 dressed all in black with a severe bob, grimaced. “No, Felix.”

“Then maybe you should go and help them, yes?” he raised an eyebrow, and she sighed heavily.

“Yes, Felix.”

“And tell Sabine that I'd like my other pants back. We can get her a pair all her own when we reach Haven, ones that actually fit.” Felix caught the look of long suffering that swelled on Marcella's face. “Or, you know, I could just get a new pair. That's a much better idea, don't you think?”

“One of your better ones,” she agreed, and trotted off.

“You know all these people?” Herah asked as Felix helped her pull a tarp over the boxes and bags. He nodded, tossing her a rope to lash the tarp down. 

“It was a way to keep my father from killing them out of frustration, or worse. He has a very hard time telling his son he plans to murder his new found friends, particularly when I would bring them to dinner and spend the entire time staring him down. It didn't always work, but it kept all the children alive, and most of the Enchanters. There was one that was needlessly cruel and bad tempered, and no one has mourned him much when my father killed him.” He sighed heavily. “I did my best, but I couldn't keep him from the Tranquil. There were two of them, and I don't know what he did with them, but they're not in the castle.”

Herah winced, thinking of the unnerving skull hut in Redcliffe Village. “They're dead,” she said, and he looked up sharply, letting out a hiss of pain.

“I'm so sorry.”

She waved him off, smiling wanly. “You did what you could,” she said, “and honestly, that's more than most. At least you kept the children alive.”

Marcella returned with another girl in tow- presumably the aforementioned Sabine, since she was wearing an enormous pair of brown pans far too big for her, a messy bun, a massive scowl, and carrying a staff with a sickle lashed to it. Felix didn't even bat an eye at the outfit.

“You're a girl,” Sabine said bluntly, eyeing her suspiciously, as if Herah were about to spontaneously turn into a man.

“That's right,” she said, glancing at Felix, who was studiously examining his knots and not hiding his smile very well.

“ _And_ you wear pants,” Sabine said with great relish. “And you're a mage! Ha! Pants!” She beamed, revealing a missing tooth. “I want to learn battle magic and fight bandits and bring peace and rain terror on those who hurt the helpless and never wear robes again!” She punched Marcella's shoulder, and Marcella give Herah a look of intense long suffering.

“Sabine's studying for the Pyromancy specialty,” she said in a deadpan monotone.

“Well,” Herah said, grinning, “as it happens, we do have a mercenary company that employs mages at Haven. When Iron Bull gets back, if he's not too tired, I'll introduce you to him. He can tell you about how to make that happen.”

Sabine beamed, thew herself forward to hug her, punched Felix's arm, and tore off at a run towards a stringy young man carrying a crate who promptly dropped it in terror.

Marcella watched her go, smiling faintly. “I'm going to marry that girl some day,” she announced to no one in particular, and handed a robe and focus stone to Felix before drifting after Sabine.

“Well then,” Herah said as Felix folded the robe. “Quite the little spitfire.”

“Her parents were accountants,” he said fondly. “She has a somewhat exaggerated idea of the world.”

“That would do it.”

oOo

The Great Mage Migration, as the younger apprentices decided to call it, got underway with a shockingly small amount of hassle. Dennet's horses were mixed with those of the Venatori, and the younger apprentices that had been around horses more helped lead them for those of the more elderly Enchanters and the younger, more easily tired children. Herah's own horse and Felix's rather flashy dappled gelding were volunteered, and Killer set to work pulling a cart while Dorian rode circles around the train, Princess's familiar screech echoing out whenever a wayward child was located.

The collar had yet to reset and Bull watched as Dorian rode up, frowning. 

Felix called out something in Tevene, his voice concerned, and Dorian responded in the same, dismounting and letting Princess go to nibble on some grass. Felix's frown deepened, and from where Sabine was stuck to Bull's side she said quietly, “Felix doesn't talk like that much.”

He looked down at her. Spitfire indeed, she had chattered nonstop at him until about noon, Marcella shadowing them and keeping watch with sharp eyes. They were a well matched pair, and they'd make a great team of fighters someday. “What do you mean?”

“He always tries to keep up a brave face,” she said as Dorian joined them. He and Felix ducked their heads together, Dorian's arm resting around a solid waist as they spoke quietly between themselves. “And he doesn't hide things from us. But he talks to Dorian like he wants to hide.”

Bull sighed, ruffling her hair. “Sometimes, life is more complicated than we'd like it to be,” he said. “Maybe it's not Felix who wants to hide, but Dorian.”

Felix gently butted his head against Dorian's, and Dorian smiled before letting him go and falling back beside Bull.

“Hey,” Bull said softly, and Dorian linked arms with him.

“We're nearly halfway there,” he said quietly. “And yet we've had no hostility.”

“Yeah, I'm getting a little concerned too,” Bull said, and Sabine jolted beside him. “Hey, Spitfire-”

Sabine bolted, Marcella on her heels as she chased up a hill to the side of the path they traveled. Bull cursed as a Templar in full plate crested the hill, looking down at the pair of them. Dorian already had his staff off his back, but Felix was in a dead run, tonfas out and both crackling with lightning. Herah ran after him, staff in one hand like a club, but Marcella and Sabine didn't bolt.

Instead, the Templar dropped to his knees, pulling off his helmet, and pulled them to him weeping.

Things got a bit confusing after that.

oOo

“Ser Delrin Barris,” the Templar said, leading a pack of nearly 100 others. They were all ragged from the road, and the group had ground to a halt while Herah tried to figure out what to do with the lot of them. Grand Enchanter Fiona was less than thrilled, but all the Templars were clearly relieved to see the mages alive and well enough. “Formerly from Kinloch. We left the others when things started going strange. There... it was like we woke up and all of us had the same thought. Get out while we still could.”

“I see,” Herah said, thoughtful. The apprentices were all gathered up front, most of them from Kinloch. Barris kept counting heads, and had nearly cried when he realized that all of the children from Kinloch had come out safe and unharmed. His former duty had apparently been to protect the youngest of the Circle's inhabitants.

“Cullen is going to have a field day if you come home with mages _and_ Templars,” Dorian said quietly, and she groaned. 

“I'm aware, Dorian.” Turning back to Barris, she asked, “How many of you, again?”

“94, and one baby born on the road.” Herah closed her eyes as a rather red faced woman stepped forward, a swaddled child in her arms. Barris went a delicate shade darker, and said awkwardly, “Her name is Cassandra Duvall.”

“ _What_?” Cassandra said, slightly horrified.

“She's Orlesian,” Barris said helplessly. 

“The resemblance is amazing,” Dorian said, hiding a grin. The child did have dark hair, and a singularly impressive scowl.

Herah waved her hand, looking like she wanted nothing more than to strangle them all. “Be that as it may, we now have to figure out what to do with you lot.”

“We had hoped to join the Inquisition,” he said, smiling as one of the youngest apprentices deposited a flower crown on his head. “Thank you, Allyse. We can't stay with the Order in good conscience, and we thought you may have need for at least some skilled fighters. We... well, honestly, we're not sure if we have anywhere else to go.”

One of the more battered Templars said quietly, “Please, let us be of use some way. Even if it is just gathering herbs, or- or to the less spiritual needs of the Inquisition.”

Herah looked like she might be sick. “That will never be your job,” she said sharply, and the Templar flinched. “We have professionals for that sort of work. I will see you hauling logs far before anyone dares force you.”

More than a few of the Templars looked unbelievably relieved.

“We'll take you with us and let Commander Cullen decide what he wants to do with you,” she said at last, and three of the Templars sat down heavily. There were one or two quiet prayers, and at least one relieved sob. 

“Cullen's going to have kittens.”

oOo

Cullen was waiting for them at the palisade walls, arms crossed as he surveyed them. Herah dismounted before him, the exhaustion finally having driven her to ride for the last little way.

“I'm home, mother, and look! I brought friends,” she said with fake cheer, and his eyes panned over the scene. Barris was talking to Fiona, Little Cassandra in a sling on his chest, Iron Bull had Marcella and Sabine on his shoulders, Dorian was fluttering around demanding he be careful while Felix was delightedly gesticulating to Cassandra about some fight he'd seen when last in Orlais that she'd been at as well. He looked back to her, so deadpan that she wilted under the attention.

“Templars,” he said mildly. 

“Yes. They found us.”

“And mages.”

“We had to bring them. King Alistair wasn't in the best mood.”

Cullen sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Josephine is going to just _love_ this.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she reluctantly walked over to the gate to go to her. Cullen caught her, pulling her into a hug, and she froze for a moment before cautiously returning it.

“Welcome home,” he murmured. “And I'm very proud of you.”

She let her head drop to his shoulder, the exhaustion hitting her like a physical thing. “It's been a really long few days,” she choked out, clinging to him. “Please don't make me talk to Josephine by myself.”

He rubbed her back, sighing a little as she buried her face in his fur. “That bad, hmm?”

“Worse.”

He hesitated, but sighed. “All right. I'll go with you to give your report, and then you get to help work out the logistics of where we're going to put everyone.”

oOo

The whole day was a mess of tents, housing, and Herah clinging to Leliana like she was about to disappear. Cullen finally managed to get away when they finished deciding where they were putting the mages (Most of the Enchanters in the house away from Haven, with Russet and Barris, who were both trusted implicitly by the mages, and the younger ones in the basement on cots and bedrolls. Space was sparse) and the Templars (mostly out in tents by the recruits), Fiona (with Solas. Neither were thrilled, but they weren't trying to kill each other yet), Alexius (the cells), and Felix had been aggressively adopted by Dorian, so he was temporarily sharing a tent with The Iron Bull and Dorian until a more permanent solution could be found.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache when there was a quiet knock on the war room door. He looked up as Dorian opened it.

“Oh, hello,” he said, surprised. “I didn't expect to see you.”

“I thought I'd come speak to you while I still can,” Dorian said, stepping inside. “You need to talk to Herah.”

He paused, eyeing Dorian. “I've been talking to her all day,” he said slowly.

Dorian walked over, dropping into the the chair opposite his desk. It was strange, hearing him speak. His accent was light, and his tone warm. “Let me clarify. You need to have a talk with Herah.”

“What about?” Cullen put the papers to the side, giving Dorian all his attention.

“Sex,” he said bluntly. “And the consequences when you're the most powerful person in the room.”

Cullen paused, thinking about it. It was... logical. Uncomfortable, but logical. He'd had to give that particular speech to plenty of recruits before, not that it had stuck very well. And Herah was 20, full of life and all the associated mess that came with it. It would be stupid to think of her as sexless. “What brought this about?”

“Well, frankly, the fact that she's surrounded by good looking men and women nearly every waking hour, and that she spent nearly the entire trip back alternating between flirting with Barris and flirting with Cassandra, and neither had any idea what to do with themselves. She's a woman in the prime of her life, Cullen, and new to power and all it entails.”

Cullen paused, frowning. “You sound like you were given this speech yourself.”

Dorian looked down at his nails. “When I turned fifteen, my father took me aside and told me about the evils I would be committing if I ever took a slave to my bed,” he said flatly. “Coming from him, it was rather rich, since I know for a fact that he and my mother kept three body slaves. But I listened, so instead I spent quite a bit of time in the Qarinus alienage, buying bed time rather than forcing.” He sighed, staring at Cullen's desk. “The humor is not lost on me.”

“Dorian...”

Dorian held up a hand. “I would have Bull give this talk, but it'll have more weight coming from you as her Commander.” He hesitated, then said, “She will not stay single forever. Better to head this off at the pass before it's some scout that has everyone hating them.”

Cullen nodded, sighing. “I'll talk to her. And... I heard about the future. Are you-”

“I'm fine,” Dorian said, a little too fast. “I don't want to think about it, much.”

“I understand.” Cullen rubbed his forehead. “Maker, this is not how I thought today would go.”

Dorian laughed, his voice a little pained. “Oh, I understand that entirely.”

Cullen leaned back in his chair. “So, how long until you can't speak any more?”

Dorian shrugged. “It's been two days and it hasn't faded. We assumed that it would just be the same amount of time, but I can't imagine we were there more than perhaps a few hours. Now, tell me about Russet and Lysette, is it _true_ they're now involved?”

Cullen smiled, and the conversation fell into gossip.

oOo

There was a lump in his bed when Cullen stomped into the room he shared with Leliana and Josephine, and as he knocked what was left of the snow off his boots from a walk around camp he sighed. “Herah,” he said patiently, “I don't know if you've noticed, but you do have your own bed. You have a small _house_ to yourself.”

"It's warmer in here,” a little voice said from under the covers. He could just see her curls poking out, and her little horns just barely out of the blanket. Shaking his head fondly, he went to sit on the side of the bed and pulled down the blanket. Herah blinked up at him, the picture of childish innocence.

“And why did you take mine?” He asked, reaching out to fix a fly away curl. With her braids out she looked so much younger, and his heart squeezed. At twenty, she was a scant year older than he had been at the time of- His mind skittered away from the thought. 

Herah leaned into his hand, closing her eyes. “Josephine would be scandalized. And Leliana scares me.”

“I don't scare you?” Cullen teased, and she smiled, relaxing a little as he ran his fingers gently through her curls. There was no attraction there for either of them, just a safe, warm familiarity. Herah saw him as nothing more than an older brother, or perhaps something akin to the person she called “arvaarad”, a protector and defender against the darkness of the world.

“You aren't scary,” she said, rolling over and resting her arms on top of the blankets. “Just old.”

“Excuse you,” he said in mock offense, and she grinned at him, bright and brilliant. “Leliana and Bull are both older than me. So is Dorian, at that.”

“Only by a year!”

“Still older,” Cullen grinned, and she relaxed. The smile slowly faded from her face, though, and she looked to the wall.

“Can I ask you something?” Herah said quietly, and he frowned, concerned by the sudden shift in mood.

“Always.”

She fiddled with her fingers, not looking at him. “I- well. It's okay if you don't want to answer, or can't answer, but... how do you deal with the weight of it all? All these lives, all these people looking to you?”

Ah. Cullen had been expecting this since she gave her report to her advisers about the future and what it potentially held. He had known, uncomfortably and with some apprehension, that she would come to him about this at some point. He just hadn't expected it to be so soon.

“By remembering when I wake up that I have a duty to uphold,” Cullen said, settling so they could look at each other properly. “Don't let the weight crush you, let it become part of you. Know that whenever you lift your hand, instead of dragging it down, there are people helping hold it up.” He hesitated, but pushed on. “For my whole life, I've been on the wrong side of history. I know that now. I have not been a good man.”

“Cullen-”

“No, let me say this. I've followed orders all my life. Go here, do this, make him Tranquil, kill her because she failed her Harrowing, raid Darktown, do what you must. When I went to Kirkwall, I was barely your age, fresh from being caged for nearly a week in Kinloch while my friends were slaughtered around me. I... I know now that on top of everything else I was facing lyrium withdrawal, but by the time the Queen freed me, I was half mad. Meredith saw that, saw the fear and self-loathing and how damn determined I was to do better, and warped it. Now, instead of seeing the mages as people who needed my protection, they were the enemy, and I was still trapped in a tower with them.” Cullen took a deep, shaky breath. “Meredith, for all her flaws and insanity, was clever. She knew exactly how to steer me, when to limit my lyrium so I became shaky and paranoid, how to convince me and therefore others that we were doing the right thing by constantly making mages Tranquil. She looked aside at the- the atrocities that my brothers and sisters were committing, and because she did, I did as well. I thought there was nothing I could do.”

Herah sat up properly, grabbing his hand to support him.

“You have to understand this, Herah. Leadership means your underlings follow you, often blindly, because they need an excuse. They need to be able to look at their friends and comrades and say, “hey, we were just following orders” at the end of the day. You have to decide how far that goes.” He looked her dead in the eyes, determined to get the point across. “But this is the most important thing. _I am damned not for what I did, but what I did not do._ I didn't stop them, and that is just as heinous a crime as committing it myself. Do you understand?”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

“People will one day make it sound like you were in the wrong, that's how propaganda works. Don't let them have ammunition to do so. You have a duty to the people to protect them, and I hope that you will do it far better than I ever have. All that's come from my hands has been death and destruction, and the only good thing I've done so far is finally opening my eyes to Meredith's madness and doing my best to keep Hawke alive- and out of Cassandra's hands.”

Herah's eyes widened. “You... You know where Hawke is?”

“No. But I know plenty of places where Hawke is not, and sent Cassandra there. I've seen what that kind of intense dedication can do, and Hawke wouldn't respond well to her. We don't need Hawke as a figurehead, and frankly, I wouldn't want him to be one. He's done enough, and he deserves time away. Varric is keeping everything close to his chest, if he knows where Hawke really is.” He squeezed her hand. “I'm glad it was you, instead. I know you're probably not, but you're good at this.”

“I'm doing my best,” she said, looking at the blankets. “I didn't ever expect to lead. Shokrakar is a good teacher, and Hissrad made sure that I understood the basics of reading people, in case there was ever an accident and for whatever reason I was put in charge. My mother is a justice, so I suppose that helped. I learned how to judge from her, the law and everything.”

Cullen nodded, smiling a little. “And you're learning more each day. That's something.”

She nodded, looking up at him again. “The nightmares are awful.”

“They are,” he agreed. “But the important thing is to remember in the morning that you've survived, you're surrounded by those who love and trust you, and that if it didn't break you then, it can't break you now.”

Herah nodded, and he leaned over to pull her into a hug. She clutched him, burying her face in his shoulder. She was so _young_ , and so like his sisters it hurt.

“Try and get some sleep. I'll come get you around dinner.”

She nodded, letting him go and settling back into bed.

“Also,” he said, lips twitching into a smile, “stop flirting with Barris and Cassandra. One's taken vows of chastity and the other's straight.”

“I _knew_ Dorian was going to tell you,” she grumbled, going a little pink in the cheeks.

Cullen chuckled, smoothing her hair. “Of course he would. The Chargers are bigger gossips than Leliana's spies. And you and I need to have a chat about that, later.”

She groaned, burying her face in the pillow, and Cullen left the room with a smile.


	18. Malleable

Felix was an excellent tent mate, Bull found. He was quiet and clean, and settled himself on the ground with a single complaint. As Dorian and Bull settled in, he simply wrapped a blanket over himself, burrowed into Dorian's bedroll, and was out in seconds.

“Is that normal?” Bull murmured into Dorian's hair as they got comfortable, keeping his voice low.

“He's always slept quickly,” Dorian said, patting his chest reassuringly. “Like a rock, that one. A fuzzy rock.”

Bull chuckled, kissing the top of his head. “Of course. Get some rest, I'm sure they'll need you in the morning with all the little ones scurrying around.”

Dorian snorted, relaxing as Bull's hand gripped his hip. He knew Dorian felt safer when he was anchored down by a steady hand or heavy blankets. “I've never been much of a teacher. But I will try, for them. Your little Spitfire and Shadow are quite the pair, aren't they?”

He chuckled, smiling as Dorian's fingers traced words over his chest. “They are. They'll make fine fighters one day. Shadow looks like she'd make a good rogue. Spitfire, maybe a front line fighter, if she can tame all that old rage and channel her enthusiasm. Not a chance those two will ever go back to the Circle. They've had a taste of life outside, they won't ever let themselves be pulled back.”

Dorian nodded with some satisfaction, and as they drifted off he murmured, “I hope you can hear me in the morning.”

oOo

When Bull woke the only sign that Felix had ever been in their tent was a neatly folded blanket on the chest, Dorian's bedroll neatly rolled up and placed back where it always was. He rose and dressed properly while Dorian still slept. His hands twitched occasionally, dreams making his forehead wrinkle.

Bull leaned down, kissing the lines, and Dorian exhaled lowly, relaxing. Smiling, Bull gently smoothed his hair before heading out into the sunlight.

Haven was just starting to stir, the recruits still groggy by their fires and sucking down bad coffee. The Chargers were still in their tents, save Krem, who was waiting by their cookfire and watching as Felix ran through katas with and without the tonfas on the edge of camp.

“Morning,” he said, and Krem grunted, watching as Felix lit the tonfas with green light. “He been out here long?”

“Almost an hour.” Krem passed him some very sad tea. Bull made a face but drank, wincing at the bite to it. “He's good, I'll give him that. I'd heard of him, but I thought it was all talk. Soldiers generally don't think of the Coliseum as much of anything, but he's got good moves.”

“I know the Coliseum is the Tevene Proving grounds, but how's he involved?”

Krem sat on his camp chair, and Bull joined him on another. “The Coliseum is the main entertainment center for Minrathous. It's a huge bowl, underground, and anyone can come watch. Not terribly expensive. There are fights, sometimes to the death, and they use it for Harrowings in the winter. Sometimes they put on plays there as well, and opera. You ever heard Tevene opera? Fuckin' beautiful, I tell you.”

Bull, who _had_ heard Tevene opera, was not inclined to agree. “That's the one with the masks and the shrill singers, right? Sound like they're always wailing?”

“Fuck you, Orlesian opera is hideous. Tevene opera has intricacies in costuming and vocal progression they can never hope to match,” Krem sniffed, and Bull hid a smile. “Anyway. They have fights, the Alti love them. Felix joined a long time ago. They called him “the fist”, which is a pretty terrible name, but he was good. Went up the ranks quick, but he quit maybe... what, five years ago? He must have bought himself out.” Krem saw the confusion on Bull's face and elaborated. “The fighters, no matter their class, are owned by the Coliseum. They fight who they're told, they're kept under the Coliseum itself. They're owned no matter their class, and buying yourself out is rough. For him, where he was Champion twice, it must have been pretty damn hard.”

“So he was a slave,” Bull mused, sipping at the harsh tea.

“Not really. He was owned, but he wasn't enslaved. He could leave whenever he wanted, and probably had a little bit of a say in who he fought.” Krem shrugged. “Alti. He'd probably got the marks though. They brand or tattoo the ones that leave so they can't be sold back in.”

“Huh.” Bull sipped at the tea again and laughed when he saw Sabine running at a full sprint towards them. She skidded to a stop, panting, Marcella approaching from the distance as a little black dot. “Hey, Spitfire. You're in a rush this morning.”

“Felix said he'd teach me flashfire since his secondary specialization is pyromancy and then we have to go to classes and then we have to talk to the bald elf who wants to know how strong we all are and I don't know if I like him since he's not very nice to Grand Enchanter Fiona and she's really sweet and never got mad about the pants thing,” Sabine said in one breath, inhaling deeply. “Good morning.”

Krem was doing his best not to laugh as Marcella reached them and said, completely deadpan, “It seems to be morning. Hello.”

“Marcie, flashfire!” Sabine said excitedly, and Marcella looked skyward, as if praying for patience.

Felix had apparently spotted them and came jogging over, the tonfas put away. “And what are you two up to?” He asked as he reached them, inclining his head to Bull and Krem politely before focusing his attention on the girls.

“Flashfire, Felix! You promised!” Sabine grabbed his hand, bouncing a little where she stood. 

“So I did.” He ruffled her hair, smiling fondly. “We'll go practice somewhere out of the way. We don't want to scare Commander Cullen, yes?”

Marcella scowled, glancing over to where the man had just emerged and was rousting the recruits from their lazing. “No,” she said, and Bull and Krem exchanged looks at the disdain in her voice.

Felix didn't seem surprised. “Give him time, Marcella. No one's perfect, and he's trying to be better.”

“That doesn't mean I have to like him,” she said darkly.

“No,” he agreed, “it doesn't, but he's in charge of protecting Haven and that includes the mages. Herah won't let him do anything. But skittish men are dangerous men, and you have to remember to take your surroundings into account. Most people haven't spent much time with mages, it's natural that they're wary of what we can do.”

Marcella looked at Bull, thoughtful. “Are you nervous around us, The Iron Bull?”

Damn. Kid would have to go there. He sighed, setting his tea down. “If you want an honest answer, yes,” he said simply. “The Fade and all that shi- all that crap is weird and not something I'm used to. Magic is dangerous, but I know the value of having mages around.”

“Not a mage!” Dalish said as she passed, her hair all askew. Sabine and Marcella both stared at the staff on her back, baffled.

Krem rolled his eyes, picking up two rolls and tossing them over to the pair of them. “Ignore Dalish. She has her own issues.” He stretched, yawning a little. “You might want to take Russet with you while you practice. That way no one can badmouth you.”

Felix sighed, but nodded. “I'll go see if he'll come with. When Dorian decides to join us again in the land of the living, please tell him where to find me. I'd like to speak to him about something.”

“Not a problem,” Krem said with a shrug, and Sabine grabbed Felix's hand, dragging him away, Marcella following as ever.

oOo

Bull returned to the tent a while later, once the Chargers were all something akin to awake, and smiled when he found Dorian sleepily cuddling the pillow he'd used that night. Sitting down, he ran his fingers through Dorian's hair as lazy grey eyes blinked up at him.

“Hey,” he said softly, and Dorian leaned into his hand, humming softly. “Collar finally kick back in?”

“Not yet,” Dorian said, his voice rough with sleepy. “Any time now, I'm sure. Come back to bed.”

Bull kicked off his boots and settled back down, letting Dorian climb onto him so that he could sprawl over his chest. He absently stroked his back, soft and reassuring, and Dorian practically purred under the attention. After so many years of abuse he was still so responsive and warm, and Bull's heart squeezed a little at the thought.

“Bull,” Dorian mumbled sleepily, nosing at the tender skin by his ear. “Bull. _Amatus_.”

“Yes?” He asked, smiling as Dorian pressed tiny kisses to his skin.

“Bull, I have something I have to tell you.” The kisses turned to delicate, sucking bites, and Bull shifted a little.

“What's that, sweetling?”

Dorian nuzzled at the tender skin before dragging his teeth over it. “I want to ride you.”

Bull chuckled, rubbing circles over his back. “That's not news, sweet. I'm pretty sure everyone from here to the Hinterlands knows that.”

“Mmm,” Dorian purred, arching into his hands. “But I want you _now_.” His voice had taken on a sweet, plaintive note, and Bull could feel he was already half hard. “ _Bull_. Please?” He nuzzled at his jaw, hand going to Bull's free one to tangle their fingers together. 

Bull groaned, smiling despite himself. “So needy,” he teased. “But you ask so nicely.”

“ _Bull_ ,” Dorian said, his voice breathy as he pulled back, eyes wide and innocent as could be. “Please? Please may I?”

“Fuck,” he groaned as heat shot through him, and Dorian smiled with wicked delight. “You're going to be the death of me, sweetheart. Go get the oil.”

Dorian climbed off him, jumping at a swat to his ass, and stripped down quickly before grabbing the oil. The ties to the tent were knotted, and Bull watched as he closed his eyes, laying a trap outside the door as a precaution. By the time he was back in bed, Bull had slid his pants off and dropped them off to the side. Dorian straddled him, eyelashes fluttering as he handed the oil over without complaint. Bull reached up, tweaking the gold rings and smiling as Dorian's hips rolled invitingly. 

“What am I going to do with you, sweet thing?” he crooned, and Dorian smiled sweetly, kissing the palm of his hand when he reached up.

“Whatever you'd like,” he said warmly.

Bull smiled, rubbing his other hand soothingly down the smooth curve of his hip. “And what do you do to have me slow down?”

“Tap twice,” Dorian recited, demonstrating on his chest with two fingers.

“And if you need me to stop completely?”

“Three times.” He tapped the same spot three times before leaning down and kissing him. “Please fuck me, The Iron Bull?”

Bull groaned, wrapping his hand around the back of Dorian's neck to keep him close. “You manipulative little shit,” he said fondly, in between kisses. “It's a good thing I like you so much.” He smiled against Dorian's lips as the smaller man whined, Bull's fingers teasingly over the curve of his ass. “Needy.”

“It's been a bit,” Dorian breathed against his lips. 

“Not even a week,” Bull countered.

“That's what I said, isn't it?” Dorian snarked, and jumped as Bull flicked the soft flesh of his hip, squirming against him and batting his eyelashes in innocence. 

“Mouthy little brat,” he said fondly, and Dorian smiled as Bull's hand cupped his cheek, stroking over his cheekbones. He could feel himself melting, like a cat left to nap in the sun, going loose and pleasured with contentment. “I'm going to miss that sweet voice. But I'll get to hear it again in time.”

“Until then, you have me,” Dorian murmured, kissing him sweetly. “Though I would like you to have me a bit more physically.”

Bull chuckled, handing him the oil to open it. “Patience, sweetheart.”

He took his time getting him slick, letting Dorian ride his fingers as best he could while stretching him out. 

“ _Fuck_ I love your fingers,” Dorian gasped out, breathless. “So good to me, Bull.”

“I'm here to please,” Bull chuckled, pressing in harder and curling them to make Dorian keen and push down harder, toes curling. “There you go, beautiful. Think you're good?”

“Yes,” Dorian groaned, hips rolling down again. “Please-”

“Get me slicked up.”

Dorian immediately tapped his chest twice, tensing, and Bull considered him. He hadn't said anything out of sorts, but, well. Dorian was Dorian, and working around old fears and pains was what Bull _did_.

“Should I?” He asked, keeping his voice calm and low. Dorian, tight lipped, nodded. He ran his free hand reassuringly over his arm, and Dorian relaxed, laying down on Bull's chest to let him slide his fingers out and get oil on them. Dorian sighed happily as he nuzzled into Bull's neck, kissing the tender pulse point. And hell, it wasn't exactly a hardship ( _hah_ hardship) to take himself in hand. When he felt satisfied, he gently nudged Dorian.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Dorian sat back up, and Bull's eyes slammed shut, fingers digging into Dorian's hips as he slowly started sinking down. While he loved the soft, fluttery clutch of a woman, there was more than a little to be said about the tight, gripping heat of Dorian's ass.

“Bull, Bull,” Dorian breathed, fingernails scratching lines down his chest. “Fuck, please. Feels so good. Please-”

“Need me to move, sweetheart?”

Dorian just made a little, broken noise of pleasure, and pressed two fingers to his chest- not tapping, just resting them there. Bull waited, patient. Dorian was... complex, at the best of times. Just being around him was an education on reading a person and situation. He was a whole class to himself, a tangled mass of past and present that culminated in a strange relationship to sex and family. And at the moment, half buried in him, Bull knew full well that if he made the wrong move it would all crash down.

Slowly, Dorian started sinking down again. “Keep forgetting what it's like to- to- ohhhh, fuck, to talk during sex.”

“Clearly I'm not doing my job ri- _fuck you're tight_ \- right,” Bull gasped out as Dorian sank to the hilt far too quickly, fingers digging into Bull's chest. The two of them panted for a moment, and Bull carefully shifted so Dorian would be more comfortable. “You okay?”

“Right as rain,” Dorian breathed, eyes fluttering closed. “Mmm. My past self is an utter disgrace for not bedding you sooner.”

“Your past self is a lesson in self restraint, and one I needed, so don't feel bad,” Bull said, and Dorian opened his eyes, grinning wickedly.

“What,” he drawled, and Bull actually whined as Dorian clenched down hard around him. “Did it get you hot, all those months of me running about shirtless? Keeping you from everyone else?”

“You were doing that on purpose?”

Dorian leaned down, eyes gleaming wickedly. “I am a _bad_ man. And a jealous one, to boot.”

Bull laughed, cupping Dorian's cheek in his hand. “You're a terror, handsome.”

“Just so.” Dorian straightened back up, grinning wickedly, and drove his hips down hard. Bull's head snapped back and he shuddered with pleasure as Dorian slid two fingers into his mouth to keep him quiet while he began slowly working his hips in the undulating figure eights he knew drove Bull mad with lust. He groaned around the fingers, sucking hard when Dorian smirked down at him.

“I like you like this,” Dorian said mildly, though the flush starting on his chest gave him away. “We should do this more, yes? More of me riding you, at least. Though I'm certainly not going to complain if, should we ever get a proper bed, you tie me down and fuck me through the night, and possibly the next day. Red rope, I think. The black goes so nicely with my skin, but _red_.”

Bull rolled his hips up to meet him, and Dorian threw his head back in bliss.

“Again,” he demanded, breathless, and Bull did so, his hands tight on Dorian's hips to hold him steady as they worked together, Dorian's fingers heavy on his tongue. Dorian came first, untouched, to Bull's delight. Bull wasn't far behind, burying himself deep enough that Dorian would be feeling it for the next few days. Dorian jerked his fingers out as lightning started to play over his fingers, narrowly avoiding zapping him as his body quivered with the aftershocks. Bull watched the magic in fascination and a little fear as Dorian's mouth, in a beautiful o, worked silently. It danced over his arms and legs, raising what little hair there was, and Dorian shuddered with sensation when it reached his spent cock and dissipated.

He promptly collapsed on Bull's chest with a very pleased sigh, and Bull kissed his temple.

“Morning, Dorian.”

oOo

Once they were cleaned up and presentable (or, at least, more presentable than they had been) they ducked out of the tent and went to find Felix.

Class was being held for the mages next to the lake, with Barris and Russet sitting off to the side watching as Felix taught flashfire to not only Marcella and Sabine, but the rest of the apprentices, Herah, and at least two different Enchanters that looked utterly delighted and fascinated. 

“The important thing is to always remember to make the fire your friend,” Felix was saying as he banished the crackling wave at his feet. “The other important thing is to please, _please_ work on your barriers so in the event you can't control it, you won't get burned alive by your own work. Saw that happen once, it wasn't pretty. Pair up, the other Enchanters and I will come around to help.”

The group broke into motion, and Herah, the odd one out, was dragged over to join Marcella and Sabine. Bull smiled fondly at the sight, their Inquisitor somberly listening to an excited chatterbox and an equally somber girl in black, her head bent to hear them better. Felix was watching her with a curious, almost wistful expression on his face. Dorian hissed through his teeth, shaking his head, and Bull looked down at him. His lips had become a thin, unhappy line.

“This is going to be interesting,” he muttered. 

“What do you mean?”

Dorian just shook his head, and Felix jogged over to them.

“Avanna,” he said, bowing once to Dorian, who bowed back on impulse.

“Avanna. You wanted to talk to me?”

Felix had a rather nice smile. It softened his face and took years off of him. “I wanted to ask if you'd teach beginning barrier spells. Some of the younger children have had bad experiences with Templars and the like trying to get them, and if those could buy them a bit of time to run...”

“Well, my voice could go at any time, but that sounds reasonable.” Dorian nodded. Bull draped an arm over him, and Dorian leaned into his side. Felix's smile brightened even more.

“I love the South,” he announced to no one in particular, clapping Dorian on the shoulder before walking over to correct someone's stance. Dorian watched him go, bemused, and Bull leaned down to kiss the top of his head. Dorian shrugged, and they headed to the tavern for lunch.

oOo

Solas had never much cared for children. Oh, certainly he cared _about_ children, but actually having them about? That was another matter.

However, Dorian had decided to hold class for all the younger apprentices outside the little house that he was sharing with Fiona. Felix was moving into the spare bed as well, and kept bobbing his head into a bow when Solas passed. If it wasn't so satisfying he would have been extremely bothered, but having humans bowing to him whenever he passed was really quite enjoyable.

Outside the window, he could see Dorian arranging the group on stools, scolding fondly. They looked to be a mixed bag of ages, anywhere from nine to fourteen, all scrawny with bright, over sized eyes. Months of hard living had not been kind to them, and it was clear from the tattered, much mended robes, and how skittish they were around anyone Chantry or armored that they had been through far too much. He watched as Dorian firmly sat the one in pants down, ruffling her hair, and couldn't help the smile. The Iron Bull called her Spitfire, and it was a very accurate descriptor.

Opening the door, he walked out to his normal spot to watch.

“All right, all right you hooligans,” Dorian began, clapping his hands for silence and looking around. “First things first, I'm Dorian, and I'm supposed to teach the lot of you barrier spells today. Now, you all see this lovely leather collar I have?” He tapped it, and heads nodded. “Do you know what it is?”

A hand in the back row went up.

“Yes, Apprentice...”

“Marianne, Ser,” an elf piped up. “Is... Is it a control collar?”

“That's correct.” He nodded approvingly. “I was a slave. Up until earlier this year, I wasn't able to speak or use my magic thanks to this, and it forced me to follow orders or it would hurt me. Luckily, our Lady Herald is very good at fixing things like this, so she fixed it so my magic was free, and the compulsions were gone. However, unless I wanted my head blown off, I have to wait for the magic to disintegrate on its own. Normally, I am mute, and use sign language. Thanks to our little jaunt in Redcliffe, for a while I'll be able to speak. It may break at any moment, though, and we'll have to stop holding class unless we have a translator. Understand?”

A chorus of nods again.

“Any questions?”

A different hand, this one in the middle, went up.

“Yes, Apprentice...”

“Lysander, Ser. Um, I don't mean to be rude, but... how did you end up a slave?”

Solas very nearly choked as Dorian went very still. The other apprentices looked a little panicked, but Dorian finally sighed.

“Let us just say that I was running from something very terrible, and ran into something worse,” he said, his expression kind. “It's a very long and complicated story, and very little of it pleasant. But now, to business. You all have your notebooks?” All the heads bobbed and writing utensils were raised. “Very good. Keep those safe and secure. The knowledge in them is invaluable. Now. Barriers!” He spun on his heel, walking back and gesturing between the apothecary and the little house. “Observe.”

With a flick of his staff, he put up an ice barrier between the two. Turning back to the students, he said, “What is the difference between this, and a barrier cast for combat?”

“Well, it's ice, Ser,” one of the apprentices said.

“But still an obstruction between one place and another, or one thing and another.” He flicked his fingers and the ice wall dropped. “Solas! If you'd come demonstrate?”

Sighing, Solas walked over. A few of the Elven children brightened up at the sight of him, and he tried his best not to be a little proud about that. 

“A barrier, if you would?”

He cast without lifting a finger, making the group gasp, and Dorian was washed with a barrier, in thick blue. There was a chorus of “ooohs”, and Dorian smiled at the group. 

“Yes, Solas is quite accomplished. Now, what's different about this barrier from the last?”

A few hands went up.

“This one's fitted to you.”

“It's more male-malla- it moves.”

“Malleable, Sabine.” 

“Yeah, that!”

“It doesn't last as long?”

And it was true, the barrier was melting away into nothing.

“Very good.” Dorian bowed politely to Solas. “Thank you for demonstrating.”

He inclined his head. “Of course.” 

Walking back to his original place, he sat on the stone wall to watch as Dorian lifted a rock and put a barrier around it. 

“Now,” Dorian continued, “a barrier is a protection spell. It is armor, make no mistake. And that armor means the difference between life and death. In Tevinter, where I'm from, there are no Templars like there are here. And that sounds wonderful until you have wild spells bouncing off the walls. So barriers are the first spells you learn when you go to the circles. To make a barrier, you must thing strong thoughts, but soft ones as well. Think of it like water, flowing out and surrounding the target and hardening there, in order to protect the person you need to keep safe.”

Felix stepped out of the hut, smiling fondly as Dorian paired the group up. 

“Barrier spells?” he asked Solas, who nodded. He looked satisfied, bowed politely, and walked away as Dorian corrected forms.

When class was dismissed with all the apprentices firmly told to practice on their peers, or the soldiers if they got Cullen's permission, Solas approached Dorian. The man bowed politely as his counterpart, and didn't complain when Solas helped him move the stools out of the way.

“A long story?” he asked quietly, and Dorian huffed out a sad laugh.

“Oh yes.” He straightened up, stretching. Solas winced at the sound of bones popping.

“Where does it start?”

Dorian hummed, looking at him thoughtfully. “In Vyrantium, at the Circle there. The third floor, overlooking the garden. The day is hot, and I am fourteen and foolish, thinking that one of the older students is exquisitely beautiful. The trouble is that he thinks so too.”

“I see,” Solas said quietly. “And where does it all fall apart?”

“Hmmm. Perhaps a mile from my home near ten years later, when I'm bludgeoned off my horse and force fed magebane,” Dorian said quietly. “And when I don't realize what's happened, and that I've just become a slave of the Imperium. It never occurred to me to try and escape. I couldn't believe that my- my family wouldn't look for me.” He shrugged, looking up at the sky and the Breach swirling high above. “Never thought it would be a Qunari to bring me freedom.”

“Are you safe?”

Dorian barked out a laugh, looking back at him. “Why, Solas, do you think The Iron Bull could ever drag me back to Par Vollen? I've been on the end of a leash, and he knows it. No, I'm in no danger. I'm probably safer than I've ever been in my life when I share The Iron Bull's bed.”

Solas frowned. “I have a difficult time thinking that a Qunari could so easily accept a mage in his bed.”

Dorian snorted, linking his fingers behind his head. “The Iron Bull isn't Qunari. He thinks he is, and he pretends well, but The Iron Bull stopped being Qunari when he started saving the Chargers and I became the _only_ one in his bed. And that is quite all that I need to say about that. Thank you again, Solas. Have a good afternoon.”

He walked away, and Solas was left with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tevene Opera is very similar to Beijing Opera in style, though with a good deal more stories along the lines of "Noble A was incredibly powerful and Underdog B was very much not and got very dead, Let Us Rejoice, and also Plucky Sidekick C succumbs to Duty and Honor and marries his Betrothed instead of Beautiful Singing Maiden 2". 
> 
> Bull, on the other hand, would have a deep and abiding love for _Aida_ and you can't tell me otherwise. 
> 
> (The Russian musical of The Marriage of Figaro, which you can watch here with a complete lack of subtitles, is also 100% the shit that Dorian loved seeing when he was taken as arm candy to Val Royeaux, so ENJOY. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tKwXaO6GxA)


	19. Sway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is also art for this chapter: http://hollythepixie.tumblr.com/post/129393747800/here-you-go-guys-this-is-a-painting-ive-been !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Holly is fantastic and I love her lots, okay?

The following morning was surprisingly warm, a rare treat in the frigid mountains. Bull was contemplating this fortuitous shift in weather and how effective it could be for training over breakfast with the Chargers when Felix appeared in his armor, jogging down the steps of Haven and over to Bull's tent, where Dorian still slept. The group watched curiously as he thumped his tonfas on the knock-post, and yelled something in Tevene toward the tent.

“What was that?” Bull asked Krem, who was grinning.

“He said if Dorian wasn't up and ready to practice in five minutes, he'd tell you about the time with the feathers.”

Bull hummed in interest, and waved Felix over.

“Morning, all,” Felix said as he reached them, sitting down neatly cross-legged. “I trust you all slept well?”

Scunner and Knife both grinned, while Dalish and Krem bumped fists. Bull rolled his eye.

“I think it's safe to say that not much sleeping got done last night,” he said dryly, eyeing Scunner's team. They all looked utterly pleased with themselves.

“Even better.”

There was a bit of a commotion as Dorian burst out of the tent in his practice gear, old glaive on his back, hopping as he tried to pull his boot on. Felix chuckled, standing back up, and called, “And here we see the graceful peacock, beginning his morning routine.”

Dorian responded with a rude gesture and a string of Tevene curses followed by, “Blackmail, I tell you! You devious bastard!”

“I love you too, Dorian. Hurry and eat so we can practice before classes.”

Dorian stomped over, throwing himself at Bull's feet, and promptly stole his roll. Bull just plucked the extra off of Grim's plate and stroked Dorian's neck, sliding his fingers under the collar to help soothe him. Dorian grumbled like an angry cat, but leaned into the touch.

“What am I supposed to be teaching today?” he demanded as Krem handed him a bowl of heavy stew.

“You get to introduce them to basic demon slaying, won't _that_ be fun,” Felix said dryly. “And further barrier work. I get to teach advanced pyromancy, and Solas is giving at least three lectures on the Fade and the Breach today if you have the time. I think it's being held over on the bridge. Fiona's put together a rotating class schedule, so you have Enchanters first, then Apprentices numbered 15-25, then apprentices 26-36.”

There was a blur of movement, and they all turned to see the familiar sight of Sabine tearing down the path to them. She skidded to a halt, bowed politely, and rattled off, “Felix there's someone who's being mean about that thing that Marcella does so you might want to talk to her because it hasn't gotten any better since she came here and I think she might have picked the Commanders pockets but really that's not such a bad thing because the man is dense as a post about theft, wasn't he in Kirkwall? He should be better about that, but Marcella gave back the other focus stone and also Grand Enchanter Fiona wants to know if you can teach Cryomancy as well because we only have Her Ladyship who thinks because we're Fereldan we're dumb so no one will listen to her. Also good morning.”

“Good morning,” Felix said, unruffled, as the rest of the group stared with some amazement. “Please remind Marcella about that discussion we had, and if she _did_ pick the Commanders pockets, bring whatever she took to me, I'll apologize for her. Yes, he was in Kirkwall. No, I can't teach Cryomancy, my specialties are Dual Wield and Pyromancy. I'll talk to Madame de Fer. And she doesn't think you're dumb, she's just unaccustomed to Fereldan magical tecnique.”

“Thanks Felix,” she chriped, and dropped down next to Dorian, who raised an eyebrow at her. “You're really handsome.”

Dorian just about choked, staring at her in surprise. “I quite agree, but what brought that on?”

Sabine shrugged. “I like pretty things. That's why Marcella and I are going to get married. She's like a perfect diamond inside and out. If diamonds had black hair and liked to sing while bathing.”

Bull smoothed a thumb over Dorian's neck, soothing as Dorian processed this statement.

“When Dorian was apprenticing under my father and came to fights with me, half the time he was fighting off people who were far too interested in him,” Felix said with a grin. “I can't think of anyone who wasn't head over heels for him in our usual group.”

“What about you?” Sabine asked, and Dorian stiffened slightly under Bull's hand.

Felix just smiled, stretching. “Not in the way you're thinking. But I don't think I wanted anything more in my life when I decided I was going to be his friend.”

Dorian relaxed again, smiling. “He spent about six months convincing me that he didn't want in my bed- which was, so far, the only thing everyone else had wanted.”

Sabine nodded sagely, making Krem's lips twitch. “There are a lot of people who like Enchanter Jenna. She has that same problem.”

Having seen Enchanter Jenna, who had a figure like a desire demon and the sweetest mouth he'd ever seen, Bull was not terribly surprised by this. Dorian leaned back against his legs, moving so that his fingers were pressed back against his throat, keeping the collar off of the front. He rubbed soft circles against the band of skin it had callused, and what little tension was left in him slowly dissipated.

The group chatted a bit more as Dorian finished his breakfast, and Bull smiled when Dorian tilted his head back to look at him.

“Bull,” he said, all sweetness, “anything that Felix tells you about feathers is a terrible lie.”

“Is that so?” Bull grinned, bending down to kiss him. Dorian smiled against his lips, and as Bull pulled back he relished how _happy_ he looked.

“He's a terrible, horrible lying liar. Who lies.”

“Of course, dear.”

Felix chuckled, standing up, and Dorian reluctantly rose as well.

“Well, _amicus_ , shall we?”

Dorian sighed dramatically. “I suppose we shall.” He dramatically turned, bending to kiss Bull, who certainly wasn't complaining. “Goodbye, my dearest heart! Scatter my ashes upon the sea.”

“You get seasick, Dorian.”

“Oh, hush.”

Felix led him a bit of a way away, and the two set their weapons down to stretch. Dorian was the far more flexible of the two, showing off as Felix alternated between chiding and laughing while he contorted into a wild variety of bends and twists. Bull was watching in fascination as they did some sort of complicated pair stretch when Herah appeared, plopping down on a stump.

“Morning,” she said cheerily, her eyes fixed on the pair. “Look at _that_. Damn.”

“Oh, trust me, I'm looking,” Bull said.

Dorian popped up, picking up his glaive and spinning it while Felix pulled out his tonfas. Slamming his staff on the ground, a dome of light covered them, glowing faintly purple. Felix spun the tonfas once and locked the left back against his arm. A shield of heavy golden light formed on his left arm, and he held the right tonfa with the baton grip. A sword formed out of it, gleaming the same gold.

“He uses a similar technique to the Knight Enchanters,” Vivienne said, and they all jumped. Sabine scrambled back, thumping into Bull's leg. He reached down, gently squeezing her shoulder in reassurance. Vivienne ignored the girl, focusing on Felix. “It is not quite the same, however. It seems closer to the so-called “arcane warrior” technique that the Elves were said to practice.”

“And still do,” Dalish said. “I mean, not that I know anything about magic.”

Everyone looked at the staff, and politely ignored that comment.

Felix crashed the sword and shield together, causing an odd ringing sound, and Dorian launched himself forward with his staff engulfed in purple flame.

Herah watched in awe as the pair clashed, weapons snapping against each other, Dorian easily ducking and weaving as his staff spun, the iron shod butt of it slamming into Felix's shoulder twice before Felix's sword melted away, and the shield morphed with it to become a pair of oversized golden gauntlets, the right tonfa tucking in along the arm.

“Is that why they called him “the fist”?” Bull asked, and Krem nodded without looking away from the fight.

It was a well deserved name. He blocked and parried with ease, getting in a solid hit to Dorian's side that nearly threw him across their ring. But Dorian was quick, bouncing back and jamming his staff in the ground to use it as a pole, hoisting himself up for a kick that knocked Felix back a few feet before he whipped the blade out and had it at his neck.

Felix laughed, the gold gauntlets melting away. Dorian stepped back, spinning his glaive into the guard position, and Felix shook out his shoulders.

“He laughs,” Herah said, and something in her tone made Bull turn to look at her. She was smiling, almost in wonder. “After all this, he still laughs.”

oOo

Herah cornered Dorian in the evening after classes had wrapped up, helping him move the stools back out of the way.

“Dorian,” she began, and he looked up suspiciously. “Is Felix handsome by Tevene standards?”

“Well, no,” he said, a little reluctant. “Tevinter prefers its men to be more my shape. Lean, but toned. Delicate yet brutal. The funny thing is, Felix is built narrower than I am, but because he carries more weight in his core he seems more blocky. He has quite shapely legs, though.” He straightened up, stretching. “Alexius married for love, not to continue the Archon breeding program. And while Livia was quite a kind, sweet, and generous woman, she was not particularly beautiful. Gereon himself is no looker either.”

“I think Felix is quite handsome.”

Dorian paused, turning to her. Herah blinked at him, guileless.

“...I see,” he said slowly, eyeing her. “I feel obligated to warn you that Felix is far from the picture of health.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

Dorian's eyes narrowed. “Uh _huh_. The man is Blighted, Herah.”

Her expression wavered a little, but she kept herself admirably blank. “That's unfortunate.”

“An understatement.” He sighed, running fingers through his hair. “Just... be careful, please.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding, and busied herself moving more of the stools as Dorian and Solas exchanged glances.

oOo

The days fell into easy rhythm. Training, classes, lectures, food, it all blurred together into a hodgepodge. While he'd not initially been too thrilled about the mages joining up, no matter how useful they were, Bull found himself sitting in classes taking notes as Solas lectured on the Fade and different kinds of spirits, Fiona taught how to manage duels between mages and techniques for shield users that she'd learned while in the Wardens, and Dorian taught with Felix on everything from beginning Pyromancy to how the Tevinter Chantry was different. Vivienne taught Cryomancy when possible, Cullen was dragged out to lecture on Templars strengths and weaknesses, and Minaeve began a series entitled “Magical Creatures and How Not To Get Killed By Them”, in which there was a whole week on dragons.

Even Sera sat down to listen to Minaeve explain how to handle everything from Fennec to Wyverns.

Herah flitted in and out of Haven, Blackwall, Cassandra, and Varric at her side to go and work while Fiona, Vivienne, and Solas all calibrated the mages talents. With so many robes running around, it was difficult to tell who was who, though Dorian seemed to have no trouble with it.

Class had just broken for the evening when the familiar bells tolled out, signaling the away teams return. Bull rose from his seat in the tavern, walking out as swarms of mages scurried past him all chattering about something Dorian had shown them, and waited for the man himself to join them. Vivienne and Solas, heads bent together, both swept down to greet her.

Dorian reached him, and stood up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Children,” he said fondly, and Bull slung an arm over his shoulders to hold him close against him.

“Oh?”

“Horrible little wretches, the lot of them. I want twenty.”

Bull laughed as they made their way down to the gates to join the welcoming party. “What, the Chargers aren't enough?”

“As much as I would love to claim joint parenthood of the Chargers, that falls to Krem without a doubt,” Dorian said, chuckling.

They reached the gate just in time to see Herah climb off her horse with Felix holding the reins, and Dorian cursed quietly. Bull looked down at him, raising an eyebrow.

Dorian sighed. “It's nothing,” he said, a hint of irritation in his voice, and Bull let it go.

Solas and Vivienne stepped forward, and Herah looked between the two as they spoke, her face falling from relaxed to somber. Blackwall stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder, and she tipped her head toward him, nodding as he spoke in her ear. Dorian hummed thoughtfully at Bull's side as Blackwall took the reins from Felix and led the horses back to the corral.

Herah headed up the steps to them, Cullen joining the group as she did, and when she reached them Bull was taken back by how exhausted she looked.

“Hey, boss. You're not looking so well,” he said gently, and she shook her head, heavy bags under her eyes.

“Didn't sleep well on the road, and it doesn't like I'll sleep much here,” she said, looking up at him. “It's time.”

They all turned as if their heads were pulled on strings to look at the hole in the sky.

“Soon,” she said, her voice heavy with darkness. “I should go prepare.”

“Come by the Tavern for dinner,” he said firmly, raising a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “No. You need to be with the people tonight. If you're going to carry the weight, you should see the foundation holding you up.”

She sighed, nodding, and bowed politely. “Captain.”

“ _Kithshok_ ,” he said, bowing back, and Herah trudged towards the Chantry, presumably to speak to her advisers.

oOo

Herah wasn't the only one to come to the tavern that night. As she walked in, Josephine and Leliana behind her, a cheer went up through the crowd. Krem waved them over, and a bottle of Antivan brandy seemed to simply appear in front of Josephine while the nicest wine appeared in front of Leliana.

“You were a bard, yes?” Felix asked after Bull had stepped out and everyone had settled into the swing of things. Dorian stole a piece of bread off of his plate, and Felix handed him the rest.

“For only a very short time,” Josephine demurred, smiling as Dalish poured her another drink. “Leliana is infinitely more practiced in the art.”

“Ah, bards,” Dorian said, slightly bitter. “Always causing scandal, always necessary to pay off. Tevinter loathes and adores them.”

“Come now,” Felix cajoled. “You had plenty good to say about bards when we were performing. As I recall, _you_ were the one who decided we should learn _Lo Amo de Rhian_.”

“You know _Lo Amo de Rhian?_ ” Stitches demanded, tankard slamming on the table. “Now this I want to see.”

“What is it?” Rocky asked as Leliana chuckled, looking around the group.

“In Tevinter and Antiva, we tell stories through dance,” Felix explained. Josephine nodded her agreement, waving someone over and sending them to fetch something for her. “Most of them are the usual. Boy meets girl, boy chases girl, boy and girl have implied sexual relations and live happily ever after. In our class, in the Alti class, love is a myth. So, we write about it constantly. We write, we sing, we dance dramatically, we mourn all about the love that we will never be allowed to partake in. But _Lo Amo de Rhian_ is... different.”

“It's about a man who falls in love with a whore,” Dorian said bluntly. “And how there's no love when all you do is pay for it.”

“And that jealousy will drive you mad,” Krem said cheerfully. “It ends with him killing her. It's a very popular in the Soporati theaters.”

“Stone, that's depressing,” Rocky muttered.

Dorian sniffed, sipping at his drink. “It is quite the beautiful dance, though.”

“We could play, should you want to show us,” Leliana offered with a wicked smile. Dorian hesitated, but threw his hands in the air as Felix rose with a grin.

“Oh, why not.”

oOo

Bull appeared in the doorway just in time to see Leliana take up a lute with Maryden and Josephine, who had found a viol somewhere and was tuning it. Dorian had lost his shirt and shoes, and Felix had ditched his yellow coat, down to plain black shirtsleeves. They stood in the center of a ring of people, and Bull was about to step forward when Krem appeared at his side.

“What's going on?” He asked, and Krem shushed him.

“In Tevinter, we have a dance!” Felix said as Dorian sauntered forward, pausing just before him and shaking out his shoulders. “We tell stories through dance, and this dance is _Lo Amo de Rhian_. Behold!” He stepped to the side, dramatically gesturing to Dorian. “A prostitute!”

There were a series of whistles and catcalls, and Dorian bowed with overdone flair. Felix stepped back, letting Dorian take the center of the room. The crowd quieted as Dorian caught his left leg, slowly lifting it above his head until he was perfectly vertical. His right hand stretched out towards Felix, looking utterly gorgeous and tempting. The crowd went utterly silent, and the slow wail of a viol started up. Bull's mouth went dry as Felix took one predatory step forward, normally cheerful face gone dark and dangerous.

“When love is for the highest bidder,” Felix said harshly, reaching out to very lightly run a finger down the proffered arm, “there is no trust. And without trust, there is no love. Behold!” He gestured to himself, heels snapping together. “The purchaser! Understand, watchers, learn! Jealousy will drive you mad!”

There was an aggressive strum from the lutes as the viol sang out, and Felix grabbed Dorian's hand. Together they spun, Dorian's leg coming down in a smooth arc that lead directly into the first steps of the dance. His hand rested delicately on Felix's shoulder, head tipped to the side to expose his neck as they spiralled around the circle of watchers, Felix all but pressed to his neck. Their legs intertwined, seeming to only give them the barest amount of room to move. They were a near perfectly matched pair, and the tango was just as hair raising in its intensity as when he had first seen it. Dorian was a vision in deep red, pliant in Felix's hands. The lutes and viol wailed through the tavern, Leliana's voice raised in complicated Tevene.

Then, abruptly, the dance changed. Dorian pulled away, flicking his feet in a complicated pattern as Felix faded back. Dorian reached out entreatingly, looking directly into Bull's eye, and he swallowed hard as the music swelled, hot and sultry, Dorian's eyes charged with fervent desire.

Felix surged forward from behind him, grabbing his arm and spinning him back around, teeth bared in fury. This time, Dorian struggled, alarmed, but Felix dragged him closer. They swayed in an awkward, careful rhythm, swirling and sharp. Felix spun him around, pressing Dorian to his chest and grasping his throat, his eyes flicking around to check for any who might dare to come into the circle. Dorian's eyes met Bull's again, scared and desperate. Bull started, and Krem caught his arm as Dorian dropped, Felix going over his shoulder in a smooth somersault. Dorian attempted to run as the viol's crying grew louder, darting around the ring.

With a wild wail, the viol rang out as the music began to crescendo. Felix grabbed his hand, dragging it up so Dorian was on his toes and began spinning him. He seemed helpless in Felix's grasp, forced to turn while the music cried out, echoing as Leliana's voice raised. Bull found himself tight and about to go forward when the music reached its peak ending with perfect time as Dorian fell as though dead, Felix looking down at his limp body, still holding his limp hand.

The room was silent for a beat, looking at the limp, lifeless body on the floor and the murderer before them. Bull could barely breathe, and as he was about to step forward, Dorian popped to his feet and the pair bowed.

The room erupted into cheers, and Bull laughed out of sheer relief. The people swarmed forward, and Krem grinned up at him.

“Chin up, chief,” he said wickedly. “Felix won't steal your boy.”

Bull snorted, and pushed carefully forward until Dorian was at his side, and tucked him under his arm.

oOo

“Shall I dance for you?” Dorian murmured as they left the Tavern, much later. “You were watching me quite intently.”

“Everyone was,” Bull pointed out, and let Dorian push him into a shadowed area to pull him down for slow, filthy kisses.

“Everyone was,” Dorian breathed against his lips, “but I'm only going home with you.”

Bull growled, and Dorian chuckled, darting out of the shadows, his smile bright. _Chase me_ , he seemed to tease, and Bull gave merry chase down to in front of the tent. Dorian waited for him there, bathed in moonlight, shirt still gone though he'd pulled the boots on.

“Must be running hot if I get to see you like this outside,” Bull said, stopping in front of him, and Dorian grinned up at him, bright and mischievous.

“You could say that,” he purred, and danced back towards the fire the Chargers kept going. Bull followed, watching as the light played over his skin, and Dorian curled a finger to beckon him closer before tossing the shirt onto a stump.

Bull stopped before him, and Dorian offered his hand. Bull took it, with an exaggerated bow.

“Messare,” he said with a flourish, and Dorian actually laughed, low and sweet.

“Captain,” he said, bowing back.

Bull couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he easily pulled Dorian into position. “I do dance, you know.”

“I know,” Dorian said as they began a smooth, calm waltz in the Orlesian style. “No fighter I've ever met has been without dance lessons.”

“That so?” A smooth turn put them him to hip, then another to opposite hips, and Bull dipped him with ease.

“It is,” Dorian said breathlessly, and Bull pulled him up to spin him smoothly back into position. He'd spotted the small crowd by the gate, the soldiers and Chargers heading back.

Bull spun him so his back was to Bull's chest. “Just about intervened a few times,” he admitted, and Dorian laughed, bright and cheerful.

“Jealousy will drive you mad, Bull.”

_We'd best hope not._

Bull spun him back around and into a slow, heated kiss. Dorian moaned into it, soft but felt.

“Shall we take this inside?” He breathed against Bull's lips, and Bull smiled.

 

oOo

Tea in the morning.

Bull bowed as a very puffy eyed Herah carefully poured for him, the rest of the team all looking a little worse for the wear. Dorian wasn't speaking, mostly because his throat was too raspy to do so, and the only one who didn't look like they'd partied harder than a Tevinter bacchanalia was Vivienne. Even Solas looked a little hungover, something Bull would have said was impossible the day before, but apparently some of the city elves had insisted he join them for absinthe and well. Everything went from there.

“I think,” Herah said, her voice very small as she extremely carefully lifted her tea cup, “that we should tackle the Breach tomorrow.”

“Here here,” Blackwall said, slightly muffled. Apparently after Felix and Dorian's show off, someone had broken out the really good ale and the entirety of Haven got more or less roaring drunk. Blackwall had a chunk of ice in a cloth pressed against his head.

Sera gave a thumbs up from where she'd fallen over, head in Cullen's lap. Cullen himself had his curls on full display, and was drinking something Bull didn't want to know the contents of.

“A day to plan would be wise,” Cassandra agreed. It was a tie between her, Josephine, and Leliana as to who looked second best after Vivienne. Leliana grunted her response, massaging her temples. After a glance around, Cassandra added, “A day to recover, better.”

“Done,” Herah muttered, and Varric sipped at his tea very carefully. “Dorian, your job is to plan the party for after this shit is done.”

Dorian wheezed a vague, noncommittal noise and sipped at his tea. At least he and Bull weren't hung over.

“All right, it's settled,” Cassandra said. “Recovery today, Breach tomorrow.”

There was a muffled murmur of agreement, and everyone went back to their tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I do love Moulin Rouge, why do you ask?
> 
> That scene's been in my head since I started this practically. I needed it out of my system.


	20. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for descriptions of violence.

The Breach loomed in the sky, and at noon the next day Herah climbed onto her horse. Varric's stocky pony, Solas' lean palfrey and Cassandra's warhorse were all saddled and ready. The mages were all on horses as well, and Dorian was fretting.

Solas, looking like he had been suffering since the dawn of time, kept trying to catch Bull's attention as Dorian fussed over him. Bull hid a smile, waved, and went to talk to Herah. She was pale under the freckles, looking at him with wide, nervous eyes as he stopped beside her horse.

“Bull,” she said in a very small voice. “I'm scared. What if I fail?”

Bull gently ran a hand over the horses neck. “Then you fail. You try again. And if it all fails, then we face the future as it comes.”

Herah nodded, lowering her head. “I'll do my best.”

“That's all we can ask,” Bull said, and squeezed her hand. She gave him a shaky smile as Solas managed to break away from Dorian and swung into the saddle, Cassandra not far behind. She swallowed hard, looking down at him, and he said calmly, “Whatever happens, this is the path we are on. And we will see this to the end.”

“Panahedan,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, and his heart ached for the woman before him.

“Panahedan, Herah.” 

He stepped back, and she wheeled the horse, breaking into a lope towards the bridge. The team followed, a thunder of hooves on the path, and Bull exhaled heavily as they disappeared from sight.

“And now we wait,” Cullen said, stepping up beside him. He looked haggard and worn, more so than usual, and Bull nodded.

“So it goes.”

Cullen ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “I suppose I should go catch up on paperwork. Pray. I don't know.”

Dorian appeared at Bull's side, saying lightly, “Threnodies 8:13 perhaps?”

“Doom upon the world,” Cullen murmured, and headed for the Chantry as their faces turned to the sky.

oOo

Haven was near silent, the world watching as the sky continued to churn. The Chargers were all huddled together, each tent squad curled about each other like piles of snakes in the sun. Bull sat on a log, patiently sharpening his axe as he waited. Dorian was pacing, running a track through the snow near the fire.

The soft squeak of feet in snow alerted him to Marcella's presence. He looked up to see the somber girl looking intently at him, and nodded at the space on the log beside him. She sat primly, watching with unblinking eyes as Felix appeared and went to Dorian, speaking quietly in soothing Tevene.

“Is it always like this?” she asked, and Bull hummed. “Before fights.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged one thin shoulder, drawing a long stiletto from her robes. He passed her another whetstone, smaller, and she examined it for a minute before preparing it and starting on her own blade. “Everyone waiting, knowing something's about to happen but not when. Like the moments before the storm breaks, the curve of the winds over the mountains, gathering high up in the sky and clutching the clouds while far below the world sparks, and the clouds spark in response.”

Bull paused in his work, looking back down at her. Her eyes were far away, seeing something he couldn't. 

“It's like that now,” she said, her voice faint. “Something is coming.”

There was a tremendous boom, and every hair on Bull's body stood up as Marcella rocketed to her feet, the whetstone falling as the sky rent itself anew and remade itself, crawling with green lightning.

“Koslun,” he whispered, rising as he watched the lightning fade. A cheer went up from Haven, but Marcella reached out with one tiny hand to take his. He looked down, seeing her troubled face. “What is it?”

“It's not right,” she said, her voice barely loud enough to be heard. “I mean. It's closed, that's good, but that can't be the end of it.” She looked up at him, dark eyes intent. “In all the old stories, something always comes when the hero thinks they're ready and safe.”

His stomach twisted, and he gently squeezed her hand. “I'll remember,” he promised, and she nodded, still troubled. They looked back up at the sky, and as the rest of Haven celebrated, Bull felt his heart sink. Marcella was right. As much as he wanted to join in the revelry, it did not do to ignore the advice of children. They always saw more than anyone else gave them credit for, and this one seemed gifted with sight beyond understanding.

“Marcella,” he said quietly, and she looked up at him. “Make sure Sabine is packed tonight. I hope this is the end of it, but I doubt it. Stay with Felix, Fiona, and Solas. I want the two of you ready to move and move quick if something does happen.”

“We should stay with the others,” she protested, “should they need protecting. Sabine is good at leading, and I can bring up the rear. They slaughtered us before, what if they try it again? We only have the two Templars with us, and the littler ones aren't fast.”

“Shit,” he breathed, nodding. “You have a point. I'll set a squad by the house for the enchanters, and leave some inside the palisade in case things go wrong.”

She nodded, clutching his hand tighter. “They'll come for us, when it happens,” she said quietly. “Easy pickings. I won't let them, never again. They can't have us- not now, not ever.”

His skin crawled with the power packed behind the words, and as they looked up at the sky he closed his eye, feeling the shiver of lightning in the air.

It wasn't over.

oOo

For a time, all was still and quiet. The world sat waiting with bated breath, wondering if Herah had survived the attempt. The Chargers sat huddled in piles together, the squads pressing themselves close together to keep warm and comfort each other. Bull had resumed the sharpening of his axe, doing his best to wait patiently. Dorian was nowhere to be seen, probably off with Felix.

The alarm bell rang out into the silence, and Bull's head rose as the waves of people flooded out of the gates. He stood, axe in one tight hand as he waited, eye straining for any sign of the riders.

And, there. From the gate, a cheer rose up, and Bull closed his eye as relief washed over him, shoulders slumping with relief.

The crowds swarmed as Herah rode towards them, looking like she was made of sunshine, her hair free and flowing. The sun caught on her curls, and it was like the sun had risen all over again. The crowds wrapped around her like water, hands reaching up, and she seemed almost holy in the moment, the sun making her a vision to behold. Cassandra and Solas got similar treatment, and the mages were loudly cheered on as they arrived.

He let out a sigh of relief he didn't realize he'd been holding, and sat to wait. Herah would find him when she had a moment. 

Krem jogged up, grinning widely. “Well then. Looks like we saved the world.”

“Looks like,” Bull agreed. “Look, Krem. I don't want the main team drinking tonight.”

Krem stared, surprised. “What? You're serious?”

“As a knife to the ribs,” he said, looking up at his Lieutenant. “Something Shadow said is bothering me. This isn't over, not by a long shot.”

Krem looked up at the sky, worrying at his lip. “You think we're going out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“Damn right I do.” Bull watched as Krem chewed this over, seeing all the little cogs and gears snapping into place in his head. Krem nodded sharply.

“Where do you want us?”

“The road out of camp, over by where the Enchanters are. Get Knifehead's team and tell them that they're watching over the children. This many people, someone's going to do something dumb.”

“Got it.” Krem grimaced. “I hope you're wrong, Chief.”

“Yeah,” he said heavily, looking back at the adoring crowd, “I hope I am too.”

oOo

Herah found him as the evening was coming on, the revelers already in full swing. He'd taken a seat outside the gate on the steps, watching the cold night with an unseeing eye. She dropped down next to him, leaning into his arm.

“You did good today,” he said, wrapping an arm around her tiny frame. “Shokrakar's going to be damn proud.”

“It didn't hurt as much as I expected,” she said quietly. “I thought I was going to my death.”

“Good thing you didn't, then,” he said fondly, and kissed her forehead. She smiled, bright and proud, and he wondered if this was something like what fatherhood felt like. He hugged her tight, murmuring, “And I'm pretty damn proud of you too.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to him for a moment before letting go to wipe at her eyes.

“You should go celebrate,” he said, gently ruffling her hair. “Relax. Take the night. You did good work, saving the world.”

Herah smiled, ducking her head. “Will you put my braids back in tomorrow?”

“I will.” He smiled as she hugged him again, and waved her off back through the gate.

oOo

Bull ducked through the tent flap a while later, and was greeted with the sight of Dorian's coat falling to the floor. He looked the picture of exhaustion, one long, brown arm draping in tired grace towards the floor.

“Dorian,” Bull said softly, and Dorian shivered at his voice, eyes closing.

“The Breach,” he said hollowly. “It's closed for certain?”

“Solas says there's no risk for it to reopen,” Bull said cautiously, and Dorian sighed. He took a hesitant step, turning around.

It was strange to see him without his face made up, and Bull felt a twinge of unease at the sight of Dorian without the kohl he adored so much. Dorian ran a hand through his hair, exhaled heavily, and said, “There are things I haven't told you. You know this.”

“It would be difficult to number all the things you haven't told me, yes,” Bull said, watching him closely.

Dorian took a careful step forward, pausing. “The future. It- well. Pieces of it can't come to pass now. I won't- you won't die like you did then. There will be no Red Lyrium Bull to charge into battle and come back to me in so many pieces. There will be no slow death of a ghoul for Felix. No blood sacrifices to keep him alive for the sake of a mad man. Leliana will live free of knowing the depths she could sink to, and Cassandra... well. A discussion for another day, our Lady Cassandra. But the future you and I had a talk, and that is something I haven't told you about just yet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I have a question that I was told to ask, after the Breach was closed. So, please. Tell me about dragon teeth, and why they are so important.”

Bull felt like someone had taken a war hammer to his chest, and was struggling to find a way to reply when there was a sharp knock on the post outside. Dorian grabbed his coat, pulling it back on as Bull pulled the flap aside.

Sabine stood there, looking anxious past words, and kept shifting awkwardly from side to side.

“Hey, Spitfire. What is it?”

“Marcie,” she said, and her voice was tight. “She can't sit still. I don't know what to do, it's been a long time since she was like this. She- she gets all bound up in her head. Is Dorian here?”

Dorian stepped up beside Bull, dragon teeth forgotten as he asked, “Is she pulling on the Fade? Posturing with her gifts?”

Sabine shook her head, clearly troubled. “It's like magic is wrapping up around her with nowhere to go.”

“I'll get my kit.” Dorian vanished back into the depths of the tent, and Bull stepped outside properly, looking up at the scar in the sky. Behind him, he could hear laughter from beyond the palisade walls.

“Bull?”

Sabine's voice was very small, and he looked down to see her staring intently up at him. “Yeah, Spitfire?”

“What happens if she's not okay?”

Sabine was so _small_. Just a wisp of a thing, really, padded with cobbled together armor and oversized pants, determination and desperation making her bigger than she was. He could fit his whole hand around her throat and snap it in a heartbeat, see that tiny little body go limp and slump to the floor like so many rags. This was the Sabine that wanted to know how to use a shield, who had fought with Felix to get him to show her more advanced work faster just so she could protect the others, who didn't always have the right words and idolized Sera.

He couldn't tell her.

“Then we'll handle it,” he said instead, and let her take his hand. Dorian emerged with his mage bag, the businesslike staff slung on his back. They made their way back up, closing the gate firmly behind them. Sabine's tiny hand clung to his tighter than he'd expected, thick calluses rubbing against his own. She led them away from the revelry to the quiet little dead end on the lower level, where Marcella was backed tightly into a corner.

“Hello, Marcella,” Dorian said calmly, setting his bag down and rummaging through it until he found a small bottle of herbs. She blinked at him, eyes unfocused.

“The wind is so loud,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Do you understand it?” Dorian asked, opening the bottle. A pungent, oily smell hit Bull hard, and he wrinkled his nose. Dorian advanced on Marcella, who looked up at him with nothing but trust.

“No,” she said, reaching up to clutch his forearm. He grasped hers back, and moved the bottle under her nose. She inhaled slowly, and Bull watched as her shoulders loosened. Something in the air seemed to relax, the wind brushing away the tension.

“There we go,” Dorian said soothingly as she stumbled forward into him, clutching him around the waist. “That's better, isn't it?”

Sabine bolted forward, hands nervously fluttering around Marcella's shoulders. Marcella reached out with one hand, catching Sabine's hand, and Sabine shivered to a halt, clutching her tightly.

“I'm okay, Sabine,” Marcella said after a moment, carefully pulling back from Dorian. She looked up at him, curious. “What was that?”

“Deathroot, felandris, salt, and a single pinch of Amritas Vein, a very expensive mix known as “Deathraiser”. It's made for mages who have difficulty escaping their dreams, or those with anxiety whose magic gets bound up around them. I got it from Vivienne.” Dorian carefully recapped the little bottle and set it aside. “I keep it in case of things like this. I'll see about getting you some.”

“I've never had this happen before,” she said, watching as he shouldered the pack.

“That doesn't surprise me. It can sneak up on you, and before you know it you have to start shooting lightning in the ground to diffuse it.” He sighed. “Not a pleasant experience by anyone's reckoning. Now-”

They were all startled as the alarm bell rang out, and Bull felt ice sink into his stomach. Marcella's eyes went wild and furious, the hand not holding Sabine's crackling with lightning.

“Get to the Chantry,” Dorian said, pulling his staff out. “Go, _now_. Take who you can with you, find Felix, and _do not_ let him leave to find me.”

“On it,” Sabine said, and the pair of them broke into a run. 

“My gear's out in the tent,” Bull growled as they followed, taking a different path. “Shit.”

They reached the steps towards the gate in time to see Herah with Cassandra, Blackwall, and Sera. She had her staff out, and was talking rapidly with Cullen, who was gesturing wildly at the gate.

“What's the news?” Bull asked as they stopped beside the group.

“An army,” Blackwall grunted, glaring at the gate like it was responsible. “Mostly beyond the mountain. No colors to be seen.”

Bull's skin crawled, and he turned to see Herah staring at the gate. A loud thump came from beyond it, light flashing.

“I can't come in unless you open!” A reedy voice said, and Herah pushed open the gate.

The whole group ran down the steps just in time to see a tall, slender young man take down a full sized knight in armor.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian breathed, but Bull ignored the scene, running over to the tent and dragging the flap open to grab the better arm guards, and the serious business axe.

He paused, turning to see if there was anything else to grab, and picked up his potion bag, strapping it to his hip. The old glaive, leaning in the corner, was taken as well. Who knew what the night would bring? He picked up the already packed bags, throwing his own on bodily, and headed out the door again, jogging down to where the Chargers mounts were tied. He pulled out the stakes, and looked intently at Puff and Princess, who were both being unusually quiet.

“Something's up,” he told them, skin crawling at the intelligent way they watched him. He should have felt stupid, talking to the animals, but he'd seen time and time again how wickedly cunning they could be. “You may have to run. If the horses follow, good.”

Princess huffed in his face, baring her teeth, and he took the hint, jogging away as the horses and nuggalopes watched curiously.

The group was apparently deliberating, and he slid up next to Dorian, handing him his pack. Dorian took it without a fuss. While it would slow him down, it wouldn't slow him down by enough to count. They'd fought in worse conditions before, though it was hard to think of when.

“It's Templars,” Dorian told him as Cullen told Herah about trebuchets. “They've come for us.”

“Shit,” Bull breathed. “I sent Krem's squad to the house.”

Dorian bolted, Bull following him as Cullen called for the troops to ready themselves. The trees passed in a blur, and they made it to the house just in time to see the Chargers engaging with a wave of Templars in warped red armor.

“What twisted beast-” Dorian managed, and threw up barriers just in time for something that Bull decided to call a Horror to slam into it. The Horror screamed at him, a bone rattling sound that got his blood up, and he swung his axe hard enough to send it flying. Krem's maul had made short work of other templars, but there were still ten left, three of them Horrors. The business end of Dorian's staff screamed as it cut the air, slicing down hard into the Horror. It screamed again, struggling to its feet, and Bull smashed it again and again until its head caved. Dorian darted away, throwing a horror spell into the air and letting it hit one of the Horrors. The Horror wailed as Bull hit it like a battering ram at the same time. 

The rage welled in him like a living thing, and he pulled on it as the Horror screamed at him, long, inhuman fingers clawing at his arm. _How dare you_ , he wanted to scream. _How dare you defile this place?_

He brought the hammer down hard, and the scream cut off mid cry as he crushed the neck almost enough to sever it.

By the time he'd taken out two more Templars, there was only the one Horror left, and as he watched, Krem, Skinner, and Dalish all hit it at once. The thing collapsed in on itself, and the group turned to him, every inch the professionals. 

“Back to Haven,” he said, slinging his axe across his back. “We've got a shitton of trouble. A whole army coming down from the mountains.”

There was a chorus of cursing, and the group broke into a comfortable run, bursting from the trees just in time to see the first trebuchet fire. 

“Bull!” Herah called, and he ran to her. She had blood streaked on her face, her eyes wild. “I need you inside.”

“But-”

“Inside, where there are people who've never seen a fight in their lives,” Herah said, eyes blazing. She slammed her staff on the ground, and lightning crawled over her body like a living thing, wrapping through her curls and sitting like a crown on her horns. “Inside, where there are _children_ , The Iron Bull. You will keep my people safe!”

Thunder boomed overhead, and she lifted her hand, whipping around to throw lightning at Templars approaching from the lake. 

“Go, now!” she yelled as Cassandra and Blackwall slammed into the first ranks, and Bull tore himself away back through the gate, throwing it shut behind him.

It was chaos inside, and he caught a flash of Felix's tonfas flashing as he directed people towards the Chantry. People were making their way as they could, and Bull scooped a tiny, crying seven year old in robes just as he heard the screams of the Templars outside. Sisters and a few of the lay brothers were being shepherded in, and the little elf in his arm clung to the bloodied harness like letting go would kill him.

“It's all right, I've got you,” Bull said, and Marcella flew past him in a perfect fade step, carrying the stiletto and looking just as wild as her other half. Sabine was inside, and as Bull ducked through the door he felt a flash of pride as he saw her organizing the magelets. All of them had their packs on, though some were definitely more hastily packed than others. Josephine was gathering papers and barking orders, Leliana ordering spies and cleaning the war table off.

“You have the last of us,” Marcella said, and the little elf reluctantly let go, clinging to Marcella instead. “We're ready to run if we must.”

“We might have to,” he said grimly, turning as Scunner ran up to him. “Report.”

“Knifehead's whole team is out by the gate,” Scunner panted. He had a long cut along his cheek. “Leatherback and my squads are rounding up people as fast as they can. Main team is here, but Hammerjaw's squad is missing. We have no idea where they are. Last we heard they were out by the outer wall, past the blacksmith's place.”

A whole squad missing, one outside, two inside, and the main team inside as well. This was not a good situation. 28 people on the inside, then, if he counted himself. Scunner's squad was the shakiest of the lot, Hammerjaw's the most well balanced. If they got caught in a fight, they'd likely survive. Leatherback's whole squad were strong individually, but their teamwork needed work. The horses were free, so if Hammerjaw's team could get their mounts, they'd be safe.

“You and Leatherback take your squads to the gate. Anything gets through that isn't the Herald or an ally, kill it fucking _dead_. As soon as Knifehead's team gets in, let me know. I'll keep the main team here. Much as I want to be out there-”

“Kids,” Scunner nodded, serious. “Mage kids, but kids. Be careful, Chief.”

“That's my line,” Bull said, and Scunner took off at a run.

And then they heard the scream of a dragon, and everything went directly to shit.

oOo

When he thought about it later, it was no time at all. He remembered barking orders, Vivienne and Fiona appearing battle worn, with Solas limping behind them, leaving bloody footprints on the ground, Varric covering their steps. Sabine and Marcella working as a team, getting the children all rounded up as Chancellor Roderick wheezed out the words that would save them.

Herah, her hair crawling with lightning still, face painted red with blood, looking at him as Cullen's voice went quiet.

“Maybe you'll find a way.”

And then they were running.

Dorian wasn't with him, was further up ahead. His mind was racing, screaming at the loss of Hammerjaw's team- Hound, Reckoner, Clawhook, Meathead, Fiend, Spine, Jackal, Trespasser, Hardship, and Hammerjaw herself, all almost certainly dead. Six of the others were dead as well, half of Scunner's team decimated and one of Leatherback's. Knifehead's squad were in uncertain condition, Skinner had a hole in her side. They struggled up the mountainside, the path barely visible. His whole body ached, though he'd done precious little fighting.

As they reached the tree line he looked up. Fiona thrust her staff in the air in time with Solas and Vivienne, and light burst out, popping harsh in the darkness. It illuminated their faces. Vivienne's, wet as though she had cried. Fiona, set and dead as any Grey Warden. Solas, agony in every line.

He turned to watch.

The trebuchet fired.

Haven fell.

oOo

They made camp in something of a valley that was mostly free of hard wind, and Bull thanked every Creator, Andraste, The Maker, Koslun, and even The Goddess that they were safely out of the weather for the moment. The children were bundled into tents in huge groups, huddling to keep each other warm, the Chargers managed to cobble together some tents from their packs, and by the time the sobbing started they had fires going to warm their bones.

Felix stood at the edge of camp, staring out into the black beyond. 

Bull joined him, still numb with grief, and stared into the void.

“Once,” Felix said quietly, “I spoke with a Saalit. He was caught inside the border, so they took him to the Provings, and kept him in the cell next to mine. They kept all of us in cells while we fought, to make us more determined. He was calm, composed. Deadly. I learned a lot from him.” He paused for a moment. “He taught me a piece of the Qun. It sticks with you, like bones in your throat. I can't stop thinking about it.”

“What part of it?” Bull asked.

“ _Solitude is an illusion,_ ” Felix began in heavily accented Qunlat. “ _Alone in the darkness, I was surrounded on all sides._ ” Bull found himself mouthing along the words, familiar in their pain. “ _The starlight dripped from the petals of cactus flowers, a chorus of insects sang across the dunes. How much abundance the world carries, if every fistful of sand is an eternity of mountains._ ”

Bull swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We... we sing, for the dead. _Shok ebasit hissra_ , struggle is an illusion. _Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun_ , the tide comes in, the tide goes out, the ocean is changeless. _Maraas shokra_ , there is nothing to struggle against.”

Felix turned his head up to the stars, face lined with agony. “ _Siqua iustitiam reducere._ If there is any justice, bring her back.”

“ _Asit tal-eb. Que sera sera_ ,” Bull said, and Felix let out a laugh that was more of a sob.

“Whatever will be, will be,” he breathed. He brushed at his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I'm going to ask Cullen if he'll walk with me. One last time, before we give up hope for good.”

“Yeah,” Bull said, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Go.”

oOo

Snow.

Light.

A yell.

Exhaustion.

Strong arms, yellow, furs and red, _safe_.

Darkness.


	21. Closed, Opened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steps forward, steps back, dreams, delirium.

**When one door closes, my child  
** **you blast another open.  
** **No windows will be unlocked,**  
**no other door gently swung aside-**  
**carve your way, child,**  
**and make the world know your strength.**  
**-Magister Athanir Tilani, 8:99 Blessed**

oOo

A message to a small shop in Val Royeaux that never seems to do much business-

_Haven fallen. Herald hurt, death uncertain. Many casualties. In mountains. Asit tal-eb._

oOo

They slept when they could, bodies piled on top of one another as the wind howled around them. The Herald of Andraste was alive- weak, but alive. The world seemed sluggish, moving to slow while the wind moved too fast. Dorian thought of days spent deep in the pipe, sucking down smoke that burned and made time stand still in filthy little hovels, sharp Elven eyes watching him as he sat in the corner, listless. He'd watched them drown in the smoke, declined to taste it himself, but the whores had enjoyed it.

Or had he tasted it?

Perhaps he had, somewhere under the drink and the cool taste of elfroot balm on cracked lips, somewhere between fumbling clothes and-

He woke up, felt his skin turn to ash, wheezed as strong hands pulled him back in the pile “-Breathe, sweet thing, breathe-”, Krem, eyes the wrong color, burning purple-

He woke up, and the Herald of Andraste was alive, only barely, and The Iron Bull stilled at the sound of jingling bells on his wrist.

There was blood on his lips. He licked them- cracked and dry. No elfroot could be spared for balm. He remembered The House, the Fourth House, how the servants had made sweet teas out of such a bitter plant. His hand rested on Bull's chest, specks of blood falling onto silver skin. He paid them no mind, pulling on coat and cloak, and left the softly snoring pile of bodies inside the tent.

The world was quiet outside, time as it should be, though the wind still cried through the mountains. He made his way to Herah's tent, and the healers stood aside when she waved him in.

She looked stronger, though that wasn't saying much.

“Who am I?” he asked her, a chill running over his skin and making his hair raise as he stared at her eyes. No burning purple, only bright, vivid blue.

“Dorian,” she said, simply.

“And who are you?”

“Herah.”

He sat on the small bedroll beside her, and took her hand. Thin fingers clutched his own.

“Tell me a story,” she said, staring at nothing. “Tell me a story, Dorian. I can't sleep. I see him all the time now, looming in the dark. He is just so _tall_.”

He stroked her hand with a thumb. “Once,” he said, his voice a slur in his own ears, “Once, the most beautiful woman in all the world went riding. She rode and she rode and she rode, and all the while she lamented, for there were none that were so fair as to win her heart, and it is dreadfully lonely to be beautiful. And she rode and she rode, the whole world over and back again, and there were none that suited her.”

He clasped her hand between both of his, feeling the thready little pulse of life. “And then came he, tromping up from beneath, and said, “You searched and searched the whole world over, nose to the air, and not once did you think to look down.” And he said it in fondness, and she felt the world blossom and open to her, and between them both they found their home and their heart.”

“A good story,” she murmured, and her hand was growing limp in his.

“Yes,” he said, thinking of a woman in blue and a dwarf in warm browns, a home full of music and light. “And it might even be true.”

She smiled at him, and went limp with sleep.

oOo

Puff and Princess found them on the fourth day, leading the string of horses. Killer broke through the snow like he was made for it, and the nuggalope went straight to Skinner.

Dorian cared for Princess while Bull fussed over Killer farther away, and whispered soft nothings to her while the advisers argued and Herah lay close to death. Princess kept her head pressed against his shoulder, rubbing against his hair when she felt he needed grooming.

“She likes you,” a voice said, and Dorian turned to see the strange, somber blonde boy with the odd hat.

“Who?”

“You call her Princess, but her name is much more complicated. She likes being Princess.” The boy took a careful step forward, and Princess huffed at him, nosing his hat before deciding Dorian was more interesting. “She makes you feel like you're at home. But she's not like Zahir, and that's good.”

Unbidden, images. Flashes of color and sound. A yelled oath, the creak of the gate, his breath loud in the darkness of the stable as he fumbled with the straps of the saddle, horse-smell and hay everywhere. The windy _thwap_ of branches in the darkness, copper in the air, bile making his throat ache. The hard ground he slept on. The cry of horses in the markets. The snip of scissors as his hair fell away.

They sold Zahir when they sold him.

His hand was on fire as he stared at the boy, anguish tearing him open into a thousand pieces. “What _are_ you?” he demanded, snarled, furious. “How do you know about Zahir?”

“She fits the hole where Zahir used to be,” the boy said, and raised his hand. “Forget.”

_oOo_

At some point there was singing. Dorian wasn't awake for it, was piled with bodies on the Bull, trying to escape his own mind. The next morning, following the faith affirming singing and apparently a discussion with Solas, Herah led them out of the valley towards the North.

The trip was a long slog, though some of the soldiers peeled away to return to Haven to gather supplies and see to the dead. They would return when they had time, Cullen had insisted, and no one had quite dared to argue. Herah was quiet most of the time, scouting when she wasn't being forced to eat or quietly speaking with Solas. He knew Bull was worried, and stayed close, reassuring him quietly whenever possible. The snow seemed unending, the nights as bitter as any Minrathin housewife, the days blinding. Dorian's kohl was soon gone, passed around to smear around the eyes to avoid snowshine. Their skins burned, the sun reflecting from the snow and darkening them all. 

Dorian saw himself in an icy pond, and for a moment thought himself back in Qarinus- dark from the heat, monsoon weather almost upon them. For just a moment, he could feel the brutal heat of Qarinian summers, feel the gasp of breath pulled out of his mouth as he lounged indoors, remembered his mother in thin silks draped over a couch, swollen belly of the fifth attempt for another child exposed while she was fanned with massive hand fans wafted by slaves.

How many almost-siblings did he have?

He thought on it as they trudged, his hand in Bull's, glaive staff hitting the ground to help him walk. Seven, perhaps? He couldn't remember. The first had been an actual child, a little sister, when he was seven. What was her name? Had they named her? They had, she had lived for just a month. Calista? He thought it was as good a name as any, for a little, screaming red thing that had invaded his home.

And then she'd died, and the house had grown quiet, and the happiness of his parents had slipped away and never come back.

He was jolted out of his thoughts as a shout rang up ahead, and as they crested the hill, they saw her.

His breath was stolen away, and Bull breathed a soft, “ _Shit_.”

Skyhold.

oOo

After the first night that they all spent collapsed in puddles of people on the ground of the courtyard, Skyhold's new occupants began claiming rooms. The Chargers took a room above what Cullen promised would be the tavern, one with three doors and a hole in the ceiling, but a bed big enough for a Qunari and just enough space for half of the Chargers. The main group would soon move into the tower that the others were currently in, staffing one of that towers while Bull took the room for himself and Dorian, but for the moment the room would house the main Charger team. Bull looked around in satisfaction, taking in the old, broken down room and the furniture still there.

“No one is sleeping on that bed until it's been fluffed,” Dorian announced within about thirty seconds of their claiming of the space, and so Grim helped him drag it out so Dorian and Dalish could whale on it with their staves. Clouds of dust rose into the air as the Chargers industriously shuffled things around, stacking blocks of stone in the corners, moving rotted beams away, and pushing the curio shelf upright into a corner. The bed was righted against the wall, and by the time they dragged the clean (well, mostly clean) mattress back in and dumped it on the bed, the Chargers had managed to get settled into their usual piles. Skinner, Scunner, and two others took the bed, still wounded, while the rest spread out their bedrolls and dropped down in exhaustion.

Dorian walked carefully back through the pile of exhausted bodies, and Bull followed him out through another door, carefully closing it behind him.

Skyhold was bustling below them, Herah a dot as she darted up the stairs to the Great Hall after talking to Cullen, who was directing people tirelessly. Felix was a little yellow dot in the lower courtyard, helping with the horses.

“There's a library,” Bull said quietly as Dorian leaned into him, letting Bull wrap an arm around him. “You should claim a space. I'm sure they'll want you in there soon enough.”

“I suppose,” Dorian said, just as quiet. They watched as people dragged things away, and others just set up camp where they landed. “We'll have to go back. See if we can find-” Dorian's voice broke, and he fell silent.

“Yeah,” Bull said, pulling Dorian in so he could hide his face against his chest. “Yeah. I'll need to write some letters.”

“I'm sorry,” Dorian whispered, and Bull kissed the top of his head. “What a mess.”

Bull squeezed him tight, and they stayed like that for a while, until a clatter came up the stairs and Dorian pulled back. Sabine skidded up to them, and flung her arms around Dorian. He smiled a little, hugging her back.

“They want us to stay in the basement,” she said without preamble, looking up at him. “And Solas says that he'll make sure we're safe when we dream. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Dorian said, smiling down at her. “You're being careful, and Solas is very good at what he does. As long as you're-”

Bull barely saw the warning flash of purple from the collar before the smell of blistering skin hit him, and Dorian fainted dead away.

“Get Herah!” He yelled, dropping to his knees, and Sabine was off like a shot. Stitches burst out of the room, swore, and yelled something down below.

Bull ignored that, carefully slipping his fingers under the collar and gritting his teeth as agony shot through him. It felt like every nerve in his hand was on fire, the pain making his forearms seize up. He gritted his teeth, holding on as a clash of armor came up the stairs, and Russet skidded to a halt.

He didn't even have magic, but he _felt_ the smite as it slammed down, the collar going cold in his hands. Stitches was immediately there, burn cream on hand to clean up the marks on Dorian's neck while Krem, cursing up a storm, was there to grab and smear it on Bull's blistering hands.

“Andraste's fucking tits, what happened?” Stitches demanded as he checked Dorian's head for trauma. Bull forced down the panic he could feel trickling up his spine, taking a deep breath as the pain started to finally hit him.

“Something happened to the collar, he fainted,” he said bluntly as Russet knelt down to hold onto the collar in case it needed hitting. “Sent Spitfire for Herah.”

“Good,” Stitches muttered, cursing under his breath as his fingers came away wet with blood. “He hit the stone hard.”

Herah appeared at the top of the stairs, racing over and skidding to a stop by Russet. Reaching out, she grabbed the collar, and the hair on the back of Bull's neck stood straight up as her hands blazed with golden light. Sometimes he'd seen flickers of it around her fingers when she worked on the collar, or when she was in the middle of a fight, but today she held nothing back. She glowed like the sun, the light swarming up her arms.

“Not today, you fucker,” she muttered, and the runes on the collar began to glow the same color. “Near a month you've been quiet, you're not killing him now, not ever.” 

Russet stepped back as she closed her eyes, her face a rictus of concentration. Bull scooted back, Krem now fumbling out bandages from Stitches bag for his hands as Herah worked, mouth moving silently as the gold wavered like candlelight.

He heard the snap more than he felt it, a strange noise like nails down stone, and the collar abruptly stopped glowing. Herah fell back, sweat pouring off her face.

“Well?” Bull demanded, unable to keep the anxiety from his voice.

“Collar's back like it was before, but since the future fucked with it, he's got three months,” Herah said in one garbled swoop. “Russet, would you help me up? I can't feel my legs.” The human hurried to help lift her, and Herah groaned in pain as she stood. “Okay, never mind, set me back down.”

Bull moved back, ignoring Krem's muttered curses as Stitches checked how deep the wound was. “He's not going to combust or anything, right?”

“He should be fine, except for not being able to talk,” she said, leaning against Russet. “But hey, only three more months and he's really free. Oh dear.”

And Herah fainted.

oOo

“Don't try to speak,” Felix's voice said as Dorian slowly woke up, his head throbbing in agony. “The collar's working again.”

Dorian grimaced, hand going to his throat as he blearily looked around. He was in an unfamiliar room, very small, with no windows and Felix's bag in a corner. Skinner sat against one wall, dozing faintly, and the mattress felt like it was just shy of being made from boards. Felix himself leaned against the wall, smiling wryly.

“You're in my room,” Felix continued, walking over to bring him some water from a pitcher. “Bull left just a few minutes ago to check on Herah. She kept the collar from killing you. You have three months of silence, and then you're good.”

Dorian drank gratefully, feeling the bone deep ache of serious healing. Skinner rose from the floor, giving him a rare smile.

“Shems,” she said, shaking her head. “Always getting in trouble.”

He smiled weakly up at her, signing, 'Sorry.'

“Shut up. Sorry should be those who took you in the first place.” She nodded briskly, gingerly patting his head. “I'm leaving now. Don't die.”

Dorian smiled, waving as she slipped out the door.

“Terrifying woman,” Felix said mildly, taking the glass to help Dorian sit up better. “She promised to live up to her name if I hurt you. I like her.”

Dorian chuckled weakly, leaning forward so Felix could fluff the pillows behind him. He wondered how many times he'd done the same for Felix himself, in the early days of his sickness. The Blight was a cruel thing, robbing strength faster than anything else.

“You're going to feel pretty weak for a while,” Felix said, helping him get settled before refilling the cup. Dorian gratefully took the ice water, drinking deep before he slumped back against the pillows. “They had to smite you to keep the collar from frying you like bahn cam.”

Dorian shuddered theatrically, his mind wandering wistfully to the thought of bahn cam. How long had it been since he'd had them? He was jolted from his thoughts as Felix sat on the bed, taking his hand.

“Just three months, Dorian. You're always beating the odds.” Felix's face fell a little. “You worry me, sometimes. Always jumping into danger, always running into something you shouldn't.” Dorian frowned, squeezing his hand, and Felix managed a smile. “I know you'll be just fine. You came back from the dead, as far as I'm concerned.”

Dorian huffed a laugh, and lifted Felix's hand, curling the fingers until they formed the sign for “a”. Felix watched as Dorian let go to make the same sign, then made “b”. Felix did the same, a real smile brightening his face, and by the time Bull came to find him Dorian had taught him the alphabet. 

“Look at you two,” Bull said from the doorway as Dorian carefully finger spelled out words and Felix “read” them out loud. “I'm gone for fifteen minutes and you're already gossiping.”

Dorian snorted, and Felix laughed, turning to smile at Bull. Bull walked in, chuckling as Dorian beckoned imperiously, and bent down to kiss him sweetly. 

“Good to see you moving” he said warmly. “We were a little worried.”

'Is that so?' Dorian signed. 'Herah is safe?'

“Yes. She's pretty drained, but she's going to be just fine. She's resting now.” Bull cupped his cheek in one huge hand. “I set up camp out in the lower courtyard. It's not ideal, but I thought you'd prefer that.”

Dorian sighed with relief, nodding. 'Thank you. The room will be crowded.'

“Yeah, I thought you'd want a space to yourself.” Bull kissed his forehead, ruffling his hair to get him to squawk in complaint. “I'll see you soon.”

oOo

A message to the castle called Skyhold, from a small shop in Val Royeaux, intercepted by Butcher, translated by Weaver-

_Noted. Expect dossiers shortly. Asit tal-eb, Hissrad._

oOo

He dreamed the same things he always did, an endless flash of faces and names he could barely remember, servants and slaves spread across half a continent. That night, he found himself in the glossy halls of Chateau Delacourt in the spring, walking empty halls as shadows flashed past open doors.

The splashes of blood on the walls he ignored, his feet winding their way up staircases to the locked room. He had known it would appear. It was simply that sort of night. He waited before the door, dread creeping up his spine.

Cold hands, the fingers inhumanly long, slid down his arms, lifting his hand to press it to the handle. He couldn't close his eyes, just stared blankly at the plain white wood of the door.

 **“Shall I open it?** ” A voice like death and decay whispered in his ear, creaking like a rotted swing. 

“Not tonight,” he breathed, and set the demon on fire with his mind. The beast screeched, the halls of Chateau Delacourt warping as the dream collapsed on itself. Dorian ignored it, turning back to stare at the plain white door until it melted away into nothing and the world snapped into his family home. Not an improvement.

He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and when he opened them he found himself in the Redcliffe Villa, sun shining down through the trees as he surveyed the land below him. The little pond below was quiet, no bears to be seen, and he could see the little shapes of fennec running through the brush. He was completely alone, safe and locked within a dream of his own design. There were advantages from being descended from Somniari.

It would be enough.

He sat at the desk on the balcony, and ignored the white door set inside one of the arches behind him.

Not tonight.


	22. Unspoken History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pieces of this were previously written for a prompt on tumblr, though what was brought in has been altered substantially.

**"There are days when I  
** **feel my body becoming nothing** -  
**and then I remind myself**  
**I am remade**.  
**I am whole.**  
**Nothing will break me again."**  
**\- Anaximus, Freed Slave, 7:80 Storm**

oOo

They'd been in Skyhold for all of a week when the blast of the approach horn rang over the castle. Bull rose from his seat in the bedroom that Dorian had been fussily making drapes for (very poorly, at that. Krem was really going to have to teach him stitchwork) and headed out to the ramparts. He ambled along until he could see the bridge, and groaned softly.

The Valo-kas had arrived, Shokrakar riding in front on a massive dappled horse with Katoh carrying their banner, a black greatsword pointed down on a blue field. 

“Tal-Va-fucking-shoth,” he muttered to himself, and headed back to get his good shoulder harness on.

oOo

He was waiting for them in the Courtyard when they rode in, most of the remains of the Chargers scrambling into their nicer gear to meet the Valo-kas. He'd known that Herah would bring her people, but he hoped it wasn't going to be much of an issue.

Cullen looked like he might be a little in love as Shokrakar dismounted, stretching lazily.

“Captain The Iron Bull,” she said, scarred face twisting into a wry smile. “I'd say it's a pleasure, but that'd be a lie.”

“Kithshok Shokrakar,” he said, stepping forward so they could grasp forearms. “I hope your week's been better than mine.”

“The worst we faced were giants on the old Comte road,” she said, shaking her head. “If the stories are true, you faced an archdemon and the most of you lived.” She shook her head again as the rest of the Valo-kas reached the inside of the gates. “I see you've grown your kith.”

“We used to number fifty,” he said in quiet Qunlat, and she grimaced, looking over the scattered group.

“How many lost?” she asked in the same.

“We're not sure. At least sixteen, maybe more by the time the week is out,” he said, and she clasped a hand on his shoulder.

“For what it's worth,” she said, “I hope they live.”

He bowed politely, careful not to hit her. “Thank you, Kithshok.”

As he rose, there was a small thump against his side, and he let his arm rest around Sabine's shoulders as she stared up at Shokrakar in awe. Marcella appeared at his other side, pressing against him. Shokrakar looked entirely too amused, and he sighed.

“Kithshok Shokrakar, Apprentice's Sabine and Marcella formerly of Kinloch Hold, now of Skyhold,” he said fondly, and Katoh stepped forward, giving him a long, steady look.

“You missed your calling, Hissrad,” she said, her deep, melodic voice washing over him like a calming draught. “Though perhaps that is for the best.” She looked him over and he straightened his shoulders without thinking, making her stern lips twitch into something like a smile. “I trust you'll care for them well.”

“Of course, ma'am.” 

Shokrakar rolled her eyes, but smiled. “And where is _my_ imekari?” She called out, her voice booming over the courtyard, and Bull turned as he heard footsteps pounding down the stairs. Herah flashed past him to fling her arms around Arvaarad as he reached Shokrakar. The Vashoth laughed, easily picking her up to swing her around, and Shokrakar grinned, thumping his shoulder with a fist.

“Good work keeping her alive,” she said as Arvaarad set her down, smiling indulgently as she chattered at him.

“Just doing my job,” he said with a grin, and she thumped him again before going to talk to Herah.

oOo

Solas was about as far from pleased as he could get when he discovered that not only were there Tal-Vashoth roaming all over Skyhold, they were staying, and some of them intended to use the library.

Dorian made his way down from his alcove after watching Taarlok breeze past with paperwork, walking down to where Solas was quietly fuming.

“ _More_ Qunari,” he muttered, turning to look at Dorian. “How do you tolerate this? Even among the Tal-Vashoth there are believers!”

Dorian patiently waved his attention over, spelling out, 'C-H-O-I-C-E.'

“Well, yes,” Solas snapped. “Obviously, they're Tal-Vashoth.”

Dorian shook his head, spelling out, 'A-L-L. C-H-O-O-S-E. I. C-H-O-S-E. S-L-A-V-E. C-A-N. C-H-O-O-S-E.'

“That's not the same thing.”

Dorian raised his eyebrow, entirely unimpressed. 'No?' 

“They were _made_ into something, taken and bent until they broke,” Solas said harshly, long fingers jerking.

'A-N-D. Y-E-T. T-H-E-Y. A-R-E. W-H-O-L-E.' Dorian sighed, walking over to gingerly touch Solas' shoulder. Solas eyed him. 'I. A-M. W-H-O-L-E. T-R-Y. L-E-A-R-N.'

“I do not want to know more about the tragedy that is the Qun,” Solas said.

'T-H-E-N. Y-O-U. W-O-N-T. U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D. W-H-Y. T-H-E-Y. S-T-A-Y.'

oOo

The Valo-kas immediately took up the restoration efforts without a word of complaint, and Josephine flitted anxiously among them as the mages swarmed after Arvaarad and Meraad, following along to lift stone back into place for mortar to be set around it. Beams were lifted with ease, and hammering, sawing, and occasional curses echoed down from the tower that the mages were set to shortly be occupying. Cullen, stammering awkwardly, landed Shokrakar and Katoh for helpers to get his office in order.

Bull made his way through the throngs of fascinated people, watching as Herah helped Maara lift a beam. The other mage was much bigger than Herah, with backswept horns and a pinched, hard face that only loosened when Herah excitedly asked her questions. Ena-Hissra, a man built like a brick with a staff that could double as a serious business club, was helping Arvaarad with beams, lifting them with ease. He had scars on his lips, and quiet, calm eyes. 

“I wanna be Shokrakar when I grow up,” Sabine said, skidding to a halt next to him. “She's _amazing_.”

“She's something,” Bull muttered, ruffling her hair. Sabine grabbed his arm, shrieking in delight as he curled to lift her off the ground. Some of the Valo-kas chuckled, and Sabine dropped down, hugging him quickly before darting away to go help lift some of the smaller beams.

Arvaarad walked over when it looked like they were mostly done, flashing him a small smile. “Hissrad.”

“Just The Iron Bull, here,” he said with a shake of his head. Arvaarad inclined his head politely. “You look like you've got yourself straightened out.”

“I do,” Arvaarad said, his smile broadening. “We have found a good balance between us. Dehaara is still out in the field, but she will be joining us shortly.”

“Your kith is smaller,” he said quietly, and Arvaarad's smile fell.

“Some were at the Conclave. We have most of them back, but not all.” He looked down, shoulders slumping. “We did what we could, and Herah got back those she could.”

Bull started, looking over to their tiny Inquisitor. She was helping Sabine now, teaching her how to move nails. “She never said.”

“She wouldn't.” Arvaarad smiled, but it was pained. “She's far too concerned with making others happy.”

Bull watched as she laughed, Sabine making the nails dance, and felt his heart squeeze. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I can see that.”

oOo

The news of Hawke's arrival spread only slightly faster than the news that Fenris had decided to accompany him. By the time evening hit, Hawke had descended on the tavern with a very reluctant Fenris in tow.

There was a collared mage sitting on the Qunari’s lap, and Fenris wasn’t even trying not to stare. The mage was pretty, in a very Tevene sort of way. The mustache was disconcerting, but not terrible. He sipped at his drink, watching as the man curled up, tucking his head under the Qunari’s chin and let his arm be stroked with a hand that definitely had claws on it. The collar was particularly nasty looking, thicker than his had been, and had a loop for a leash.

“If you’ve got a problem with him, better get it out now.”

He looked over, not surprised to see the _Soporati_ that had been training with them watching him from the end of the table.  He stood like a soldier, feet a perfect shoulders width apart, his cheekbones high and near razor sharp. He was easy on the eyes, but the intelligence lurking behind those dark brown eyes was a bit worrying.

“You are with the Qunari, then,” he said mildly.

“The Chargers, yes,” he said, expression unchanged.

“You have a slave with you.”

The Soporati sighed, as if this was a question he heard all too often.  “Dorian isn’t a slave, he’s a free man, he’s just still collared because if we take the damn thing off too soon he’d very literally explode.”

“Why is he sitting on the Qunari?”

The Soporati looked up at the ceiling, sighing. “Because they’re fucking. Loudly. Often. In a variety of positions that I hear too much about.”

Fenris frowned, looking back at the pair. They were sharing pieces of bread back and forth. “And he is Tevene?”

“That’s where his family’s from, yes,” the Soporati said. “Legally, in Tevinter, he’s dead. He’s finding somewhere else to be from.”

“Hmm.” Fenris took another drink.  “Watch yourself.  After all…” he rose, dropping coins on the table.  “You can only trust an altus to be an altus.”

oOo

Garrett Hawke sat in Herah Adaar's bedroom and wondered how he'd ended up so lucky as to have escaped being in charge of this mess. The little Qunari was fussing over some papers, dragging maps out of chests, and running around fetching everything to put on the over sized desk some kind soul had dragged up for her to use while Varric dozed in a chair next to him.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized as she set out the maps. “It's just that this will be much easier if you can see what I'm talking about.”

He waved her on. “Not a problem. I know you've got places to go and people to wrangle.”

She beamed at him, and spread out a map. Varric woke up at an insistent elbow from Hawke, blinking blearily.

“Here,” she said, pointing to an area below Lake Celestine. “My family- well, the village headwoman, actually, sent a message that they'd spotted slavers in the area. Bettani, my home, is here.” She moved her finger more Southernly. “I hate to ask, but I'm going to send the Chargers out to deal with this, and I'd like to ask you and Fenris to accompany them. The Iron Bull and his people are good in fights of all varieties, but they don't have experience fighting slavers. You do.”

Hawke considered, looking at the area. “So, around Val Firmin?”

“Yep.”

“Not a fun place on the best of days,” Varric said, looking at the map. “If you cross Lake Celestine, it's only a jog up that river and you're out on the Waking Sea with a whole boatload of slaves, Quanri slaves at that. Tevinter would pay well for young ones that they could train early. The Vincouer is a deep, wide river, they could get up it and out without much issue, even fighting the current.”

Hawke hissed out a breath, picking up the next closer Orlesian map to get a closer look at the topography. “How long would this take, do you think?”

“Two weeks, at most. The Chargers travel light and hard. So long as we keep the pass open, they can be in Orlais by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

Hawke whistled. “Have you spoken to them about it yet?”

Herah rolled her eyes, sighing. “If it's not the keep, it's the Valo-kas. If it's not the Valo-kas, it's the Chantry. And to top it all off, I now get to fight with all the people of the Valo-kas who think that I should be even more tightly collared and Arvaarad with me every waking hour.”

Hawke winced, patting her hand. “Punch them,” he said sympathetically, and she smiled. 

“I might. I wanted to find out from you if you'd be willing to go before talking to The Iron Bull. What do you think?”

Hawke considered, looking at the lake. “I don't know...”

“Hawke,” Varric said, and Hawke turned to look at him. “Look. Two weeks. If the world manages to go directly to the Void by then, it'll be on me, alright? Go. Kill some bad guys, save some pretty girls and boys, do what you do best. Go be a Champion for them, because no one else is coming.”

oOo

“Company Subona,” Bull read as Herah fidgeted in his doorway. The paper was written in Josephine's “work” handwriting, solid and straightforward. “Slavers, based primarily out of Nessum, previously based in Marnus Pell and Vol Dorma. A bare bones crew of 25 strong, lead by Anton Harvissan, with lieutenants Fabian Felcharian and Tachen Hauchburg, the latter of the Hossberg Hauchburg family, now disowned. Most recently seen around Val Firmin.” He lowered the paper and removed his monocle. “Boss, you're never going to get me to say no to beating the hell out of slavers, but what the hell is this actually about?”

Herah swallowed hard, looking at the floor, and pulled another paper out of her pocket. Bull popped his monocle back on, frowning at the page.

It was a rather battered letter, written with a shaky hand.

 _Hessarah va'Justica,_ it began, and he paused, looking up, but Herah's eyes were firmly on the floor. _We have heard that you are now leading something the humans call an “Inquisition”, which seems to be no better than the mercenary company you kept, simply with more power. Perhaps you can use it for good. Val Firmin has let slavers into their ranks, Tevinter slavers. They have been seen circling Bettani. We are keeping the children indoors, but it will not be long before we can no longer do so. They will find a way to take our little ones. Please, help us. – Nahira va'Maraasa, Headwoman, Bettani_

“Who is Hessarah va'Justica?” Bull asked quietly, and Herah flinched.

“Hessarah va'Justica doesn't exist anymore, except in the heads of those who thought they knew her,” Herah said, her voice very small. “Hessarah was a foolish little girl who wanted more from her life, and whose mother took her name back when she became nothing more than a weapon.”

“I see,” Bull said quietly, setting the paper down. “So. What does Hessarah mean?”

“It means nothing,” she said, her voice shaky. “There's no meaning. It's just a pretty sounding nonsense word. Nothing, daughter of the Justice. Herah Adaar is a much better name. The time of the cannon.”

Bull sighed, sitting down on his bed and patting it. She sat down next to him, folded in on herself, and let him drape an arm over her.

“One day,” he said heavily, “you and I are going to have a very long talk about the nature of sacrifice and what names mean.”

She turned her head into his side, and he felt the sniffle more than anything. Minding her horns, he stroked through the mess of curls, and let the sorrow and frustration crash through him.

Dorian took that moment to open the door, and looked hesitantly between the two. Herah straightened up, trying to smile at him, and he frowned. Closing the door, he strode over to gently cup her face with both hands, thumbs gently smoothing away the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Just a hard day,” Bull said quietly, and Dorian sighed, letting her go. “There's a paper on the table- we're going to hunt some slavers in Orlais.”

Dorian walked over, plucking it up, and all the blood drained from his face.

oOo

“What do you mean, we’re working with them?” Fenris demanded as they saddled horses in the courtyard early the next morning. “Why are we not continuing on?”

“Because we owe Varric our lives, and he wants us to help deal with slavers in Orlais,” Hawke said calmly, tightening the cinch.  “And personally, I’d like to get rid of some slavers.”

Fenris growled in frustration, swinging himself up in the saddle.  They were to go with the Chargers, who all looked particularly grim.  The Altus rode up next to the Qunari as the standard bearer, on his blind side. Their standard, a stylized black war hammer on a red field, was in good repair and trimmed with inky black silk.  The Altus rode something that looked like a large, spiny lizard, the Soporati on the same.  They looked tiny and fragile in comparison to the giant, evil eyed war horse the Qunari rode.  

The nuggalope was just weird, and the two elves eyed him when he and Hawke joined their ranks.  The healer flicked his eyes to them, a tiny shake of the head, and they shrugged in unison.  They left Skyhold at an easy trot, disappearing down into the wilds.

They made camp within the Orlesian border that night, and Fenris did his best not to stare when Dorian stowed his gear in the Iron Bull’s tent, and promptly stripped down to just his pants, sash, and a variety of knives.  No one else batted an eye at the gold rings on his chest, or commented.  Apparently this was a common occurrence.

“Going hunting?” The Iron Bull asked.  Dorian nodded, stretching up on his toes to kiss his cheek.  “Hmm.  Good luck then.  If you could get us a druffalo, that would be nice.”

Dorian patted his cheek, picked up the glaive instead of the staff, and vanished into the undergrowth.

He killed the druffalo.

That night they ate well, and the Inquisition scout that had been with them peeled away with the hide, back to Skyhold.  Dorian sat on The Iron Bull’s blind side, signing back and forth to the man called Grim, and Hawke chatted with the others.  Fenris stayed quiet, watching him.

He got a chance to see Dorian in battle the next day.

They ran into bandits on the road, and Dorian vaulted from the saddle with his staff already out, blade side forward, pinning one of them to the road like a bug. The blade pierced through bone directly to the heart.  He did his best to not feel impressed as he fought, and was startled when Dorian didn’t use much magic on the field.  He could feel the intensity of it, though he kept himself well contained.  Dorian was dangerous, deadly, and apparently preferred not to conserve his power rather than show off, at least for small skirmishes.

Strange.

By the time the bandits were dead and removed from the road, he was grudgingly impressed.  Dorian cared for his weapon, frowning as he checked the grip on it.  He walked over, Dorian’s eyes flicking to him and a flash of fear crossing his face before it was schooled away.  Apparently, his reputation preceded him.

“You are a very unusual mage,” he said quietly.  “And very skilled with your blade.”

Dorian bobbed his head in thanks, his fingers white knuckled on the handle.  

“How many years?” he asked.  Dorian opened one hand wide, then closed it and lifted two fingers.  “Seven?”  He nodded.  “A long time.  My sympathies.  Is it your master we chase?”

Dorian shook his head, relaxing a little.

“Those who sold you?”

This time a nod.  Fenris hummed, somber.  “I sincerely hope we kill them.”

Dorian smiled, a little shy, and Fenris left.  He was full up on social interaction.

oOo

“A word,” The Iron Bull said a few days later, falling back to let Krem lead the company with Dorian just behind him.  Fenris nodded to Hawke and he rode ahead, letting them fall back to talk.

“I imagine I can give you more than one,” Fenris said dryly.  

“You watch Dorian very closely.”

 _“My experience with Tevinter mages has not been the best.  I am merely being cautious,_ ” he said, switching to Qunlat. If The Iron Bull was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“ _You have a Seheron accent.”_

_“Is it so noticeable?”_

_“To those who served there, yes,”_  The Iron Bull said, and that explained a few things.  Like why Dorian always came out of the tent wearing bells on his wrist in the morning.   _“Dorian is very interested in you.  He wants to learn from you, but thinks you would much rather him dead, so he will not ask._ ”

Fenris stared, genuinely shocked.   _“What does he think I can teach him? He uses a pole arm.”_

 _“Self defense.  Dorian is good at killing small animals, but terrible when not in battle,_ ” The Iron Bull said quietly. _“He panics the second someone goes from talking to attacking, especially one on one.  We’ve tried our best to teach him, but familiarity isn’t what he needs. We thought he was getting better, but... that wasn't the case._ ”

Fenris looked at the straight backed mage, the low collar of his shirt revealing the leather around it, and nodded.  “I will think on it,” he said, switching back to Trade.  The Iron Bull nodded, and rode back up to take his place at the head of the line.  Fenris watched him reach down, and Dorian reached up to take his hand.

oOo

“Again.”

He pulled on the lyrium to make himself glow, waiting patiently as Dorian struggled to reach out and touch him.  He was reminded of the women Danarius had kept as pets, broken and terrified to so much as blink without permission.  He’d been told that Dorian had been a pleasure slave, but never did he see the effects so strongly as when they were attempting this. As the Bull had said, in real fights he was fine, but he froze up so quickly when Fenris was just waiting patiently for him to move.

Dorian managed at grasp his wrist with a shaking hand, exhaling heavily and looking to him with desperate eyes, waiting for instruction. Fenris could feel how tightly locked down his magic was, not so much as a wisp escaping his control.

“What comes next?”

He stepped in a smooth half circle, that part well ingrained already from years of glaive training, and carefully twisted Fenris’ arm until he was forced to lean over.

“And now?”

A step in, to force him down, a step to the side to get him laid out, and Dorian carefully turned his hand to apply pressure to the wrist.  Fenris waited until the pain grew too much, and smacked the ground. 

 Dorian let go instantly, jumping back like a startled cat.

Fenris rose, brushing himself off.  Dorian’s eyes were huge in the dusk, silvery against the night.  “That’s enough for tonight.  We practice again in the morning.”

Dorian nodded, pressing his palms to his legs and bowing in the Tevene way- a thanks to a master of a craft.  Fenris felt vaguely ill.

“Stop that.” 

Dorian jolted back upright so fast his back popped, making them both wince.  Fenris sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the mage.  

“You did well.”

Dorian brightened, and Fenris resolutely did not smile when he received a quick ‘thank you’ in sign and he waved Dorian off.

Hawke came up behind him, bumping his hip.  “Well that was adorable.  You didn’t try and kill him or anything.”

“Be silent,” Fenris muttered, and let himself be pulled into a soft, lazy kiss. He reluctantly relaxed against Hawke, and when they broke apart he smiled a little before they headed for their tent.

oOo

Val Firmin was a loud, ugly sprawl of city on the bank of a river leading down to Lake Celestine. Fat with smoking chimneys, the stench of livestock, and the unending smell of too much human in too little a space, it was not dissimilar from Lowtown. Fenris waited with some of the others of the Chargers inner circle outside the city, giving short answers when Dalish (who reminded him entirely too much of Merrill) chattered at him, and sharing companionable silence with Grim. He rather liked Grim. Dorian and Krem sat a bit away, Dorian sprawled out on the grass and snoring uproariously while Krem watched the city with unflinching eyes.

Bull and Hawke reemerged from the city gates with Skinner, Stitches, and Rocky in tow, none of them looking too pleased about the situation. Bull's massive black horse reached them first, the huge legs covering the ground with ease.

“They're about a half a mile off,” he said tersely. “They're making for Bettani.”

“Lovely,” Fenris heard Krem mutter, and Dorian was up on his feet and into the saddle before Fenris even thought that someone needed to wake him.

They rode hard and fast, Krem and Dorian scouting ahead on the nimble, unnerving dracolisks with Rocky's solid pony taking the mountainous area above them. Dorian's Princess let out a screech as he fired an ice blast into the air, and Fenris' brands ached as Dorian dragged on the Fade, harder than he'd felt in years. They crested the edge of a valley just in time to see Krem and Dorian smash into the first lines of Company Subona, Dorian's horror spell falling over every single man and woman there.

The fight was hard and fast, completely without mercy. Fenris dragged his hand through those that needed it, keeping an eye on Dorian. It seemed the man was of the school of Necromancy, but he raised no dead to fight beside him. He used horror and fear without impunity, face twisted into a rictus of pain. No doubt he wanted to make them relive every moment that he'd been under another's thumb. Fenris could respect that.

By the time it was done, the field was red. Fenris cleaned his blade, watching as Dorian crouched down beside a body. He was almost tender as he examined the face, and leaned against Bull's leg when the Qunari reached him. Fenris looked away as he rose.

Some things it was best to just leave alone.

oOo

With the bodies looted and burned, they left the freshly dead for another place. They found a quiet slot canyon, and when the rest were drinking and laughing, Fenris left.

Dorian sat on the edge of the canyon, legs tucked against his chest and a bottle of ale at his side. He jolted at the sight of Fenris, silvery eyes uncertain.

“Peace,” Fenris said, sighing. “I've no quarrel with you. At least not now.”

Dorian nodded, lowering his head to rest on the crossed arms on his knees.

“It's a strange thing, isn't it,” Fenris said quietly, not looking at him. He took a drink, looking out at the stars that were just beginning to peek over the mountains. “To be inches closer to freedom. Piece by piece it comes to you, and then... suddenly, you're loose.”

The crackle and pop of the fire behind them seemed so loud, the laughter and chatter even more so. Fenris drank again, glancing over when Dorian made an aborted gesture.

“I do not speak sign,” he said, “but I have plenty of years of experience with pantomime.”

That got a bit of a smile out of Dorian, and he made an exaggerated grimace, shrugging.

“You don't know what to do?” 

A nod.

Fenris sighed, looking back out over the tree covered valley. “Would that any of us knew what to do.” He drank again, and looked back to Dorian. “How did you come to this, Altus? Not drugs or drink, or debt. No man in mere debt is so vicious.”

Dorian hesitated, then pointed to himself. He followed that with a heart shape against his chest, then gestured to his whole self. Fenris paused.

“You loved yourself?”

Dorian should his head, gesturing between them and making a lewd gesture. 

“You loved men?” Fenris clarified, and got a nod. “That is hardly the worst sin of Tevinter, Altus.”

Dorian gestured to the open world at large, and Fenris paused to consider this.

“Openly?” he hazarded, and Dorian nodded. “Ah. I see. That does make things difficult.”

Dorian grimaced again, and grabbed a stick. Fenris watched him draw stick figures in the dirt- a man with an P over his head, a woman holding his hand, and then one, smaller, that had to be Dorian, as he added the ridiculous mustache. He drew a square around the man.

“The man... your father?” Fenris guessed, and Dorian nodded, clutching his chest. He pulled up his sleeve, drawing a line from elbow to wrist. Fenris felt sick.

“He tried to change your heart with blood magic?”

Dorian nodded, letting the stick drop.

“And you ran,” Fenris said quietly. He could fill in the rest by himself. “I see.” He passed Dorian the bottle, and Dorian didn't hesitate to drink deep. He passed it back, and Fenris took another fortifying drink. With the burn in his throat, he said, “It gets easier, to be free. In time. You'll stop wondering when the next hit will come. You stop- you stop wondering if you'll be forced to pay your way physically. And some days you'll even wonder that you ever had a collar.”

Dorian touched his own, tugging at the loop for the leash. Fenris caught his hand, forcing it down.

“It'll come,” he said, intent. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not for years. But one day you'll wake up, and you'll _know_.” Dorian's eyes fixed on him, familiar as the mirror. There was a man, reaching for hope, praying it wouldn't be taken away. Fenris stared back just as intently. “You'll know that they can _never_ touch you again.”

Dorian swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, and Fenris let go of him.

“Come,” he said, nodding to the empty bottle. “Celebrate. You took a piece of yourself back today, and that is cause enough to rejoice.”

Dorian nodded, clearing his throat before picking up the empty bottle and following him back to the fire.

oOo

Hawke and Fenris peeled away from the Chargers after they crossed the border into Ferelden. Fenris nodded brusquely to Dorian as they headed out, and was startled when Dorian rode up, pressing something into his hand before wheeling away. Fenris waited until they were out of sight to open his hand.

It was, of all things, a small rusted key. Dorian had likely found it on the road, but an attempt had been made to clean it up, and it had been hung on a long chain.

“What's that?” Hawke asked, falling back to ride beside him.

Fenris shook his head, amused. “The strangest magisters brat I've ever met,” he said dryly, and tucked the key in his armor.

 _Never again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the Qunari naming in this fic-
> 
> The different pockets of Vashoth have different naming conventions. 
> 
> Kaariss ari-Nehraason is "Kaariss, person who is the son of Nehraa". Hessarah va'Justica is "Hessarah, Vashoth of Justice's line". 
> 
> Kaariss' area has more of an open outlook on culture and assimilation, hence why he has a more "human" last name. Herah's former last name, va'Justica, would be more "qunarily" spelled Va-Just-ekari. The Justica is made of "Justice imekari" but has been "humanized" to va'Justica since their move to Orlais by slurring the words together. Both take their last names from their mothers. If Kaariss ended up with a wife named Leanna from Herah's area, his children would be "Name va'Leanna". If Herah married into Kaariss' area, out of politeness she would probably name her children "Name ari-Herahkari", as a way of maintaining her Qunari heritage while respecting her new home.
> 
> Herah will under no circumstances be marrying anyone who has ever lived anywhere NEAR Kaariss, but the point stands.
> 
> No Qunari pockets use the patriarchal naming convention, and many use only "- of [City]" as their last name. 
> 
> Most mercenaries take job titles instead of using their real name to avoid attachment. Arvaarad's real name is actually Anton. Meraad thinks that this is hilarious. Meraad's real name is Quentin, which he thinks is much less hilarious.
> 
> Herah's choice of "Adaar" for her last name is a deliberate slap in the face to her community, stating that she has cut ties to her mother, the cornerstone of Vashoth culture in her area. Much like The Iron Bull, all she is now merely a thing- a cannon, waiting for the right time to go off.


	23. Love and Sacrifice

**“If there is one thing to fear of the Qunari that now live in Orlais,  
** **it is this-**  
**That they too will become Orlesian** ,  
**and a whole host of new children**  
**will be failed by our pride.”**  
**\- Chevalier Anton du Mantilleon, 9:02 Dragon.**

oOo

****

**"A broken sword is a hundred nails waiting to become."**  
**\- Qunari Proverb, unknown.**

oOo

The Chargers had just walked through the gate when Josephine ran up, her hair in disarray and her eyes a little wild.

“Oh, wonderful, you're back,” she said as Bull reined in Killer. “We need you in the War Room, immediately.”

Swinging off, he handed the reins over to Krem and adjusted the cloak on his shoulders, following her up the steps at a jog. “What happened?”

“Too many things,” Josephine muttered, a crease forming between her eyebrows. They skirted around a pair of chatting soldiers, and headed up the main stairs. “The short version is that yesterday night a messenger arrived from the Inquisitor's hometown of Bettani. To say she is not pleased by this development would be a disservice to all unhappy people everywhere. She's barely speaking, and said that she won't see him without you present.”

They reached the Great Hall, and Bull waved to Varric as they passed.

“Any idea why?” He asked as they skirted the courtiers. Josephine waited until they were in her office before turning to him.

“It's my belief that something has gone terribly wrong,” she said quietly. “You just came from Bettani, or near there. Herah will not, even when pressed, speak about her family. I've spoken with Serah Shokrakar, and all she would tell me is that Herah's choice to leave her family was not one that came without considerable fight from her family and community. If they are pushing for recognition now, of all times, it speaks that they have either heard our reputation and want a piece of it, or that they can no longer ignore her existence.”

Bull let out a slow hiss of breath, running a hand over his head. “That's... not good.”

“An apt sum-up,” Josephine said. Her eyes were worried. “I...I care deeply for Herah, and I am concerned that they may try to force her hand.”

“I'll do my best to keep her safe, ma'am,” he said quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for looking out for her.”

Josephine placed her hand on top of his, looking up at him. “If I cannot save her with words, save her with deeds,” she said, her voice trembling for the first time he'd known her. “She is a _child_ , The Iron Bull. And I fear for what she might become.”

oOo

The feel of the War Room varied day to day, but when they stepped inside it was decidedly chilly. Herah stood at one end of the table, a tall, handsome Vashoth at the other. Bull took him in quickly. Tall, built slender, with shorn off and capped horns, he was handsome in a cold sort of way. He wore daggers on his hips, a bow across his back, and a long scar ran from the corner of his left eye to his chin.

Leliana and Cullen were stiff, Cullen's hand resting tight on his sword and his face pinched. Leliana's face was carefully polite, but Bull could see the quietly smoldering anger behind her eyes.

“You called?” He said quietly, looking to Herah as Josephine took her place at the table.

“I thought you might be interested in where I came from,” she said, her voice tight. He caught the undercurrent of fear, the quiet _you know who I am, keep me safe_ her words hid. “The Iron Bull, meet Bron va'Anaanca, most recently of Bettani. He claims to have brought me news from my people.”

Bull nodded, taking one of the chairs that were off to the side and dragging it over. His leg was aching miserably, and he wasn't going to stand for however long this took. Bron gave him a deeply distrustful glare.

“Your message?” Herah asked, nodding to Bron.

“Lady Justice has found a proper match for you,” Bron said bluntly. “You are expected to return to Bettani and marry. A contract has been drawn up, you will not be distracted from this... _Inquisition_ for long. His name is Marras ari-Hisserason, the eldest of the Hisserason's. I understand that you worked with his cousin, Kaariss ari-Nehraason. He is to your specifications for a mate, and Lady Justice thinks you should bear any children by him with ease.” Bron pulled a paper out, opening it. “I am to remind you that your contract with the Valo-kas expires within two months, and under the agreement you signed, you _will_ be returning to Bettani for marriage, at the least. The community of Chevaux expects at least one child to be given to them to be raised there, so three is the suggested number for children.” He passed the paper over. “As a mage, I will remind you your rights are limited, your husband outranking you despite your status as a woman. Marras is agreeable to letting you live without an Arvaarad to check on you. He also does not wish you collared. When will you be available to return to Bettani?”

Had a pin dropped, it would have been like a gaatlok cannon. Herah was clearly horrified, Josephine looked like she was about to pass out, Leliana was calculating, and Cullen... Cullen's sword was half out of its sheathe, his teeth bared.

“Please tell me,” Cullen snapped, “why we shouldn't throw you out on your ear. How _dare_ you?”

Herah held up her hand, clearly shaken. “I'm sorry- to clarify, I've been... betrothed?”

“Correct,” Bron said briskly.

“Surely my father did not sign off on this,” she said quietly, her eyes hard. “Do you have the paperwork?”

He nodded, passing over another paper. Herah unfolded it, looking down to the signatures.

“My father hasn't signed this,” she said, setting it down. “How can this be treated as legal when the only who who's signed is Lady Justice?”

Bron looked at her with open contempt, and Bull felt a growl start in the back of his throat. 

“I will remind you that Lady Justice holds authority over your father,” he said coolly. “She has no need to clear things with him. He is a farmer, no more. Why would he have anything to do with the legal system? You should be grateful that they even deign to speak your name, after you left like you did.”

Cullen's sword came all the way out, and Bron's knives were in his hands in an instant.

“Stop,” Herah said, her voice wavering just a little. “Cullen, please...”

Cullen reluctantly stepped back, sheathing his sword, and Bron put his daggers away. Herah stared down at the papers on the table, letting her fingers hold the contract.

“If you wish to return to our people, here is your invitation,” Bron said flatly. “This was a difficult marriage to arrange, and one to a good family. A mage woman with no connections who's been gallivanting with mercenaries... You're lucky that any will take you. Had you been born normal, there would be no shortage, but you have gone and furthered your alienation, Hessarah. You wish to come home? This is the price you will pay.”

Herah didn't look up, picking up the contract.

“I will think on this,” she said, her voice heart-breakingly small. “Please, stay a while. We will find a place to put you up. This is... this is very sudden.”

“You have three days,” Bron said. “And I will sleep with your army.”

He swept out the war room doors, closing them hard behind him.

Silence fell, and Bull got out of his seat just in time for Herah to burst into tears and crumple to the ground.

oOo

They got her up to her room without much incident. She climbed into bed and curled up like a child, crying silently. Bull sat on the bed beside her, gently stroking her hair.

“Felix,” she said quietly, hiccuping a little between shaky breaths. “Please, I want to talk to Felix.”

Bull paused, surprised. He knew the two got along, but for her to actually ask for him... this was new. “You gonna be okay while I go find him?”

She nodded, grabbing his hand before he left. He stopped, looking down at her.

“I didn't think it'd be like this,” she said, her voice very small. “How... how am I supposed to find freedom in this?”

Bull sat back down, and gathered her up in his arms like she was no more than a child. She clung to him, pressing her face against his shoulder so she could hide from the world. “There's a very old saying,” Bull said quietly, cradling her. “ _Sataareth kadan hass-toh issala ebasit._ It is my purpose to do what I can for those I consider important. And maybe going is what you find important, but I know there's a whole company and castle out there of people who are ready to die for you. Maybe it's time to let go of the past to find your freedom in the future.”

She pulled back, looking up at him with serious, intent eyes. “Bull, promise me,” she said, her voice still shaky. “When you go back, when you- when they take you back, don't lose this part of yourself. I know- I know what the viddasala can do, Hissrad's told me plenty, but don't let them take this.”

 _Hissrad_.

“I'll try,” he lied, and she smiled brokenly.

“It's sweet how you think I can't see you lying.” She slid back into the sheets, holding his hand. “I... I'd like to see Felix. Please.”

“I'll find him,” he promised, and Herah pulled a pillow to hug to her chest as he made his way down the seemingly endless flights of stairs.

Felix, as it turned out, wasn't all that difficult to find. He was pacing in the Great Hall and made a bee line to Bull as soon as he saw him.

“I saw them taking her upstairs,” he said without preamble. “Is- did something happen? Is she unwell?”

Bull sighed, leading him into the door. “She's had some pretty shitty news,” he said bluntly. “Her family... well. From what I'm getting, her mother's a nasty piece of work. They sent her a message about a marriage that had been arranged without her knowledge.”

Felix let out a string of low Tevene curses, eyes flashing. Bull held up his hands, placating.

“She asked to see you. She's pretty fragile right now, so be gentle with her.”

“I always am,” Felix said, brushing past him to head up the stairs. Bull frowned, eye sharpening as he watched Felix take them two at a time. _Always?_

He closed the door and headed back through the Great Hall, stopping in front of Varric. Varric gave him a wry smile, waving him into a chair, and Bull dropped into it with a groan.

“You look like you've got something on your mind,” Varric said, pushing a plate of meats over to him.

Bull plucked a strip of heavily spiced jerky off of the plate. “What happened while I was off running around with Hawke and an elf after Skinner's own heart?”

Varric put his quill down, stretching languidly. Bull took a moment to appreciate his face. While Varric wasn't his usual type, he was quite appealing in his own way. If Dorian was gleaming bronze and gold in the right light, Varric was brass, warm and welcoming. “You mean what happened with Herah?” When Bull nodded, he smiled fondly. “Well, the short version is that she got lonely and Felix conveniently didn't have a certain mute mage hanging all over him to prevent them from talking. The medium version includes a rather unromantic interlude where he taught her about perfect numbers and there was a lot of excited shouting about some sort of magical numbers and tattoos that can bind magic to skin. It was all very complicated. Chuckles and Ma'am got in on the action, and Chuckles didn't even try to claim it was originally Elvhen.” Varric's smile widened. “And _then_ they moved the discussion to her bedroom, and Felix didn't leave until past midnight. They repeated this private conversation the whole second week you were gone.”

“Huh.” Bull sat back, thoughtful. “Felix and Herah. Quite the pair.”

“Except for that little problem where he's dying,” Varric said, a little sadly.

“Yeah,” Bull said heavily, looking back at the lonely little door by the throne. “Except for that.”

oOo

A long afternoon of training ended with Dorian letting Bull chase him into an empty tower, laughing the whole way as they went. Dorian had been cheerful the whole day, knowing that his captors were dead, and Bull certainly wasn't going to argue with a good thing while he had it. Laughing, he carefully pushed Dorian against a wall of the second floor in the tower, bending to kiss him warmly. Dorian wrapped his arms around his neck, holding him close. Bull's fingers were on the edge of Dorian's pants when conversation drifted through the window beside them and they both froze.

“-about this before you cut ties for good,” Felix's voice was saying, clearly concerned. Herah's laugh, strained, floated up after it.

“It's the only choice, now. Fuck, I can't believe they're actually doing this. I can't believe that _she's_ really doing this, I mean, she ran breeding operations! How can she not know how- how demeaning it is to be only considered for the children I could carry?” Herah's voice was bordering on hysterical, and Bull carefully stepped away from Dorian, the two drifting over to the window to peer down. Herah was standing with her back to the battlements, hugging herself as Felix stood beside her, hip to hip. “I can't believe my father knows about this. There's no way. He always wanted me to get away from all of this.”

“Herah,” Felix said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Dorian's hand tightened on Bull's arm, his eyes widening a little. “How do you want this to go?”

“I want-” her voice broke, and she leaned into him, her head bowing. “I want my family back.” Her voice cracked. “But I don't want to marry someone I don't like. I don't want to be a mother so young! I don't know if I want to be a mother at _all_. But I- I should try. For my family.” 

“But do you want to bring children into this world if you can't bring yourself to give them a fully loving home?” Felix asked, stroking her hair. 

Herah seemed to waver, biting her lip. “I... I could learn to love them. Not their father. Kaariss has told me about his family. Marras is stern and strong. He's the _ideal_ for my mother.” Her voice turned bitter. “It's never been what's best for me. It's what's best for the community, or for the headwoman, or for mother or father. The first thing I ever did just for me was learn how to make toys. Toys, of all things. Just little carved wood pieces, blocky and ugly, so I could have something that was mine and mine alone. Sacrifice is a wonderful thing, until you're asked to throw yourself on the pyre.”

She sighed, and Felix tightened his arm around her. “Is there anything else you could do to reconcile with them that isn't marriage?”

“I don't know. And how could they expect me to do this? To just leave the Inquisition, maybe sacrificing the safety of the world to go run off and get married to some man and pop out a few babies before Corypheus decides he's done playing and kills us all?” She groaned, pressing her face firmly into his shoulder. “Fuck.”

“Is there anyone that you could fake a relationship with to ease them off? Any crush you've ever had that you'd be amenable to faking it with?” Felix asked, and Herah pulled away, curling in on herself.

“No, I can't! I can't do that!”

Felix threw his hands in the air, frustrated. “Kaffas, Herah, why not? It's not a terrible idea, it would get them off your back for a time. What's stopping you?”

She turned on him, and Bull's jaw dropped as she said, “Because you're _dying_ , that's why! Because of the gods-cursed Blight, because you're Tevene and human and a mage and _dying_ while I'm stuck watching you fade away, and oh, oh, _fuck_.”

Felix had gone very still, and Dorian's hand was tight in Bull's.

“You...” Felix took a careful step forward. “Really?”

“Yes,” she choked out, wiping at her eyes. “Yes, you horribly kind beast of a man, I love you.”

He stepped forward, hesitantly pushing her hair out of her face. “I didn't realize you felt the same way. I...I am nowhere near worthy for you,” he said lowly, and she let out a shaky laugh. “I mean it, Herah. You deserve someone you could spend the rest of your life with, and I wish- I wish it could be me. I wanted it to be me the moment you walked into that tavern. I- Maker, I've been so jealous this whole time, and now it's all but too late.”

She turned her face into his hand, cupping it. “Felix,” she said heavily. “I would rather be a widow before my twenty first birthday than go my whole life chained to a man I know I could never learn to love.”

Dorian clasped a hand over his mouth, and Bull held him tight. Felix stepped closer, his fingers in her hair, her hands on his chest.

“Herah,” he said quietly, the wind catching the words to bring it up to them. “ _Herah_.”

“ _Felix,_ ” she said firmly, and he leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. They stood like that for some time, still and holding each other close, and Bull was about to move carefully away when Herah said, in a very small voice, “So... what do you think?”

Felix chuckled softly, sounding very tired. “I think I have maybe four months to live, if I'm lucky, and I'd rather spend my last days with you at my side. And that Dorian is going to kill me.”

Herah laughed wetly. “You're worried about Dorian and not Shokrakar? Or Bull? Or Arvaarad?”

He pulled back, and Dorian clutched his chest at the huge smile on his face. “And here you were worried you were cutting ties to your family.”

Herah stared at him for a moment, then flung her arms around him, startling a laugh out of him as they held each other.

oOo

“So,” Bull said that evening as Dorian paced around their room. “Felix and Herah.”

'Foolish,' Dorian signed, throwing his hands in the air. 'One dying, one marked.'

Bull shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What's that saying? Love waits for no man?”

'She is too young for him,' Dorian snapped, whirling about with a huff of disapproval. 'And he is not going to live much longer.' He stopped, his whole body drooping, and Bull frowned. Rising, he walked over to rest a hand on Dorian's head, gently stroking through his hair. 

“Hey,” he said gently. “What's going on in there? You heard them- they want to spend what time they can together. There's no shame in that.”

Dorian shook his head, looking up and signing, 'I don't want her to be hurt.'

Bull bent to kiss his forehead, tenderly stroking the hair back from his face. “Dorian,” he said gently, “We can't save them from every little bump in the road that they might encounter. This is her choice. She knows he doesn't have long, and she's willing to be with him anyway. I find that pretty damn brave.”

'Felix was never betrothed,' Dorian signed. 'He does not understand how desperate to escape that life we become.'

Bull paused, surprised. Dorian so rarely spoke about his past. “You were betrothed?”

'Yes. When I was very young. We have never met.” His hands fluttered for a moment, making aborted gestures. He settled on, 'I hated her because she tied me down to a life I did not want. My parents expected me to marry and see it through. I saw them. They hate each other. I do not want that. I only want to be happy.' He pulled away from Bull, walking over to the window and slumping on the sill. Bull followed, gently running a reassuring hand over Dorian's back.

“You're safe now,” he said quietly. “You don't have to go back to that.”

Dorian managed to give him a small smile, and they sat together in silence til it was time to sleep.

oOo

“My answer is here,” Herah said from her desk, passing the sealed envelope to Bron. He managed to keep from looking too affronted, taking the letter and putting it in his pouch. She went back to her work, carefully drawing the sketches for an early mock up of a potential improvement to the trebuchet's. 

“Is that all?”

Herah sighed, looking up. “What do you want from me, Bron?” she demanded, setting her pen down. His frown deepened. “Do you understand what's at stake here? Small town politics are nothing. I have to go to Crestwood and meet with a Warden, King Alistair of Ferelden keeps sending me chocolates, half the Free Marches want me to settle disputes while Starkhaven looks at invading Kirkwall, and at some point this year I have to get myself put together enough to go and meet with Empress Celene.”

“I just want you to come _home_ ,” Bron said, and she looked away from him, not wanting to see the frustration. “Creators, Hessarah-”

“Herah.”

“Fine, Herah. You're missed. Your mother isn't getting any better. Your father's doing the best he can, but-”

She stood up, eyes blazing. “You leave my father out of this, Bron,” she hissed, and he held up his hands.

“I only meant that he's not getting younger,” he said, his voice gentling. “Look. You're running around with the fucking Ben Hassrath, Hes- Herah. Is it any wonder we want you to come home? Why can't someone else do this?”

“Because I've got some sort of weird ass glowing magic on my arm,” she said, holding up her hand and twitching it. The mark sparked. “Don't you understand?” She lowered her hand and looked down at her desk. “I'm giving it up so that the world keeps on turning. I'm letting my family go so that I can keep on working on making the world safe for them.”

They were silent for a moment before Bron said roughly, “That's fucked up, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, tell that to my mother.” Herah dropped back into her chair, covering her face with her hand. “Fuck, Bron. I never wanted this. But she doesn't understand the word no, and I'm not going to bow to her every whim. I spent my whole life under her thumb, I'm not going to just be a pawn anymore.”

She could feel him hesitating, and wasn't surprised when he said, “I hope this gets worked out.”

Herah snorted, and he insisted, “I mean it. Look- Lady Justice is a hard woman. And I'm tired of being treated second class because I sheared my horns off. I didn't stop being qunari just because I got rid of them. It's nothing like what you had to go through but, damn it, I'm tired of this too.” Herah looked up, surprised. Bron was glaring at the floor, fidgeting a little.

“Just- don't die, all right?” he said at last. “And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for what I said when I arrived. That was unworthy, especially with all the work that you've been doing.” He bowed, short and sharp. “I honor your sacrifice, Inquisitor Herah Adaar. Make them pay for the cost of it.”

He turned sharply on his heel and left, and Herah sat back in her chair. Outside, the morning light streamed bright across her balcony, and she closed her eyes against the blinding light.

oOo

_Letter to Lady Justice va'Qunca, in care of Headwoman Nahira va'Maraasa, Bettani_

Lady Justice.

Once, when I was very small, you set me on your knee and told me that one day, I would understand the great sacrifices it took for you and Father to travel from Par Vollen to our little homestead. You said that sacrifice was the greatest gift we could bestow upon each other as a community, to sacrifice one thing for the sake of the greater good.

As I write this, the world sits on the brink of being torn apart. The Rifts are constantly opening, and I am shutting them as quickly as I can. My hand is marked with the same magic, a brutal green light that threatens to consume me some days. Every day is a fight for survival, every day one more pass of the sun making me wonder if today is the day I die for those of Thedas who believe in me. Each day, I sacrifice a little more of myself to see that our land remains safe from demons that would swallow us whole. You would never believe me if I told you the things I have see, the places I have walked, the people I have mourned.

Today, Lady Justice, I sacrifice one more piece of who I am, for the sake of the greater good.

I will not marry Maarass ari-Hisserason. 

I understand the consequences of my actions. I know what this will cost me, and cost the community in the short run. But this is a thing I cannot do. 

For the sake of Thedas, for the sake of my people, for the sake of my own happiness, and with the full knowledge that I likely will not come out of this war alive, I, Herah Adaar of Skyhold, Inquisitor, Scourge of the Venatori, Herald of Andraste, formerly called Hessarah va'Justica of Bettani, refuse to consent to any betrothal or marriage arranged for me. I will make my own way, should this war leave me alive, and marry only someone of my choosing with consent from both parties.

Give Father my love.

Herah

oOo

They began the Crestwood excursion disgustingly early in the morning, Sera, Bull, Dorian, Cole, Solas, and Cassandra all sleepily saddling mounts as Herah discussed quietly with her advisers and Felix hovered at the stable door. Shokrakar leaned on a wall nearby as Cullen fussed with Herah's cloak and Josephine ran her through the local's names a few more times. They stepped back and Felix stepped forward, the two of them sharing a few quiet words. Dorian watched them closely as he stroked Princess' side, and frowned when Felix palmed her something. They hugged quickly, and Felix walked over to him as Shokrakar went to Herah.

“Be careful out there,” Felix said quietly when he reached him. “I don't want to lose you again.”

Dorian nodded, squeezing his arm. Felix dug in his pocket and handed him a hollow stone on a loop of leather. 

“For luck,” he said, his eyes sad and tired. “You remember them?”

Dorian nodded, homesickness binding his throat. They were a simple thing, often sold by the Qarinus docks. A local favor, carried for luck or reassurance by a loved one, they were known locally as Arlathan Hearts or the Eye of Andraste. With Arlathan forest not far from Qarinus, many excursions had come back carrying the stones. Dorian looped the tie over his neck, putting it in his robes for safe keeping. He beckoned for Felix's hand, and carefully drew the runes for protection and longevity on the back of his hand, pushing a bit of power into them. Felix pressed their forehead's together in a silent show of support before drawing away and leaving the barn. 

They rode out in silence, Herah quietly fiddling with her own Arlathan Heart. Dorian stayed at Bull's side and reached up to hold his hand as they traveled, the Heart warm on his chest.

oOo

Crestwood was a mess from start to finish, and Dorian was just grateful that Cassandra went instead of Bull to deal with the freshly exposed corpses and rotted homes of Old Crestwood. Herah had cleaned up the place in the space of a week, and met up with Hawke's Warden contact (someone named Stroud) with Solas, Cassandra, and Sera. They were on their way out doing a final walk about most of the area to double check the nothing else (aside from a fucking massive dragon) needed killing, when Cole broke his silence.

Dorian wasn't fully certain how he felt about Cole. Cole was strange, and uncomfortable, and definitely not human. Likely not a demon, but dangerous none the less. An assassin from the fade with all the love and tender confusion of a child, trapped in the body of a man. He also had an unnerving habit of broadcasting thoughts to the whole group, and that was... concerning.

“Walking through the halls, so loud, so tall, so many people. What if they're mean?” Cole's voice was plaintive, and not his usual tone. Dorian's skin crawled, because the cadence was one he recognized, one that he hadn't heard in nearly six years. “Mother far away, father dead, _him_ gone. But I promised I'd be brave, and I will be! I promised him. It will have no power over me, I will rein it in, I will be good. I will be kind to those who have not, for they support those that do.”

Dorian froze, and Bull almost ran into him as Herah stopped to look at Cole, baffled. His ears were roaring, and in his minds eye he could see a small boy, barely 7, chubby cheeks and bright smile, clumsy little hands helping him hang sheets out to dry. The wind whistled past him, pure white cotton snapping in the breeze. Cole continued, seeing something beyond as Dorian's shoulders began to tremble.

“There, portraits on the wall, donors? Notable students, no, I wonder if I will have my painting here, and oh. Oh, it can't be, but it is. _Him_. Smiling, wide, happy, his eyes so bright, so alive. Smile still the same in oil as it was in the yard, white sheets hanging on the line, smiling as he made lightning dance on his fingers until the collar hurt him or father came out. So strong, so beautiful, still watching over me after all this time. Wonder where he is, if he'd be proud.”

Dorian choked down a sob, pressing a shaking hand to his lips.

“I will make him proud. I promised. His name, what is his full name? There, on the plaque.” Cole's voice softened for a minute as the world held still. “Lord Dorian of House Pavus, Enchanter. A _lord_ and we caged him. And he smiled when he lifted us up, and smiled despite the collar, and smiled when he taught me to breathe little flames and to heal. Maker, please, where ever he is... let him be safe.”

Dorian sobbed silently, sinking to the ground when his legs gave out, tears streaming down his face like rivers. Bull was at his side in a heartbeat, arm over his shoulder.

“It's all right,” Cole said plaintively. “He's happy and he's safe. No one hurt him, _he got away_.”

“He got away,” Dorian said brokenly, and Bull swore as he grabbed the collar. Dorian started to laugh through the tears, and buried his face in his hands as Bull held him close.

oOo

'I don't want to talk about it,' Dorian signed as soon as they were in the tent, Bull's hands lightly bandaged after Solas had cursed them both up and down a storm and healed them as best he could.

“Okay, that's fine, but are you okay?” Bull asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Dorian began wrestling his boots off, refusing to look up at him. Bull sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face and going to fetch his travel desk and quill for the report back to Leliana. Herah couldn't write reports to save her life, so he and Cassandra had given up and decided to write them. Herah's always ended up with scribbles all over them, little designs for things she wanted to make.

He sat down to get started on his work and had just written out the date when Sera ducked in, carrying a book. Dorian made a noise of surprise as she dropped down next to him.

“I'm going to read at you,” she said firmly. “Got one of Varric's, and some of the words are weird, yeah? So fix it for me when I get them wrong. I read! Just could do better.”

Dorian signed out of Bull's line of sight, and Sera snickered. “Nothin' he's not heard before.” She opened the book, and Dorian flopped back on their bedroll. Bull hid a smile as Sera flopped down in a perfect imitation, holding the book up so she could read. Dipping his pen in the ink he began to work as Sera started to read.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, and most of the time I think it was the ladder. Latter, right, sorry. This print ain't half tiny, innit?”

Bull let the words wash over him, going back to his work. His chest loosened at the sound of Dorian's laugh, and Sera's voice rose and fell in ridiculous, squawking cadence as she read. His report to Leliana finished, he rolled up the paper and left, carefully stepping over their feet as he did. Cassandra met him by the ravens, the two of them attaching their work and sending them on their way.

Cassandra rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Maker be praised that we leave in the morning. I do not care for this place.”

“I'm with you there,” he said, shaking his head. “It's been shit the whole time we were here. Least the weather's finally cleared up.”

“A small blessing, to be sure,” Cassandra said, looking out over the considerably smaller lake. They had gone back to the camp above Old Crestwood, hardly Bull's favorite place to be. He shuddered as the wind wafted the smell of decay to his nose. Cassandra touched his arm, and he looked back at her. “You are free to tell me to leave it alone, but... will this trouble you, this evening? Is it to much like Seheron?”

Not for the first time, he was grateful that Cassandra, at least, could be blunt about things.

“I should be fine,” he said, shrugging. “Dorian brought his bells, and it's cold. That alone would snap me out of it.”

“Good.” She gingerly patted his arm, making him smile. “I am... happy, for you and Dorian.”

“What do you mean?” He could feel his heart sinking.

“It is a strange romance, a Tevinter mage and a Qunari spy, but you make it work.”

He sighed, looking away. “It's not romance,” he said flatly, the words rote. “Qunari don't do romance.”

Cassandra frowned, looking at him. “Bull-”

“Please,” he said, holding up a hand. “We're a pair of people who're taking on the end of the world together, and that's all it can be. I know it can't last. So I'm going to enjoy what we have until they take me back. He'll... he'll get over me.”

“With all due respect,” Cassandra said quietly, “I doubt that he will. Good night, Bull.”

She walked away, and Bull braced himself on the low stone wall. The scent of decay clung to him, and when he closed his eyes he could hear the screams of the drowning villagers. The reek of rotting flesh pressed in on him like a cage, catching in his throat and making him gag as the memory of a fire scarred home rose up.

He desperately tried not to think of what would happen when Dorian was no longer there to wake him from the dreams.


	24. Ataas Shokra

  
**“What is it that drives the world?**  
**We do not yet know**  
**but we shall learn.”**  
**\-- Lady Celeste of Bettani, Dragon Age 9:21**  


oOo

  
**"Of what little this humble servant knows**  
**the most important is this-**  
**it is love**  
**which drives the world**  
**and love**  
**which will tear it apart."**  
**\-- Taashath of Bettani, Dragon Age 9:39**  


oOo

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into a month. With one down and two to go until he was freed, Dorian sat in his little nook in the library fiddling with his collar while Felix sat at the desk beside him working on numbers sent to him from one of the Orlesian houses that was still in need of work on some sort of convoluted problem.

“If you keep that up you'll wear right through the leather,” Felix said fondly, reaching out to catch his hand. Dorian sighed, letting him set it down.

'Bored,' he signed, and Felix smiled wryly.

“I understand. It's too quiet with everyone gone.”

As soon as they'd made it back to Skyhold from the meeting in Crestwood, Herah had resupplied and headed directly out to the Hissing Wastes. Bull, Sera, Solas, Blackwall, Vivienne, and Varric had all gone, leaving Cole, Cassandra, and Dorian the only ones home. While he was grateful for the chance to spend more time with Felix, the bed was cold without Bull in it, and he wasn't quite lonely enough to ask for Grim's companionship yet. He spent as much time as he could with the Chargers, but they'd been pulled out to go handle some problems for Cullen only two days in, and Dorian had been told on no uncertain terms that he was to stay put in case Herah got back and needed him before they did.

Felix had yet to talk to him about Herah, utterly out of character. Felix had always been enthusiastic about people he was involved with, running to tell Dorian about every date, every time he held hands, and laughing with giddy abandon after being bedded. The fact that he was completely mum about Herah spoke to how serious he was taking things, and Dorian was torn between feeling proud and miserable. They would have such a short time together.

Dorian sighed, closing the book he'd been trying to read and setting it to the side. Sorrow would get him nowhere. 'Spar?'

“Sounds like an excellent idea.” Felix threw down his pen with a groan, beaming at him. “Some sunshine will do us both good.”

oOo

They were just putting their gear away when the alarm horn blasted out the call that the Inquisitor had returned. Shading their eyes, Felix and Dorian watched at the flags were changed out. The Valo-kas flag was still up declaring their residence, and the Inquisition flag was flying as always, but the commanding officers flags were lowered. Cullen's flag, a lion rampant on a blue field, holding a sword pointed down, was the first to be removed, followed by Leliana's raven on a purple field, and then the house arms of House Montilyet. Herah's banner immediately went up, a striking green with a closed black fist.

The horses clattered across the gate, and it was just about to shut when the horn blasted again. This time, Felix and Dorian gaped as the Theirin coat of arms was hoisted, the gold edging indicating that King Alistair himself was about to be in residence.

“This will be an interesting day after all,” Felix said, and they ran down to meet the away party as people began pouring from every crevice of Skyhold.

Herah was dismounting as they reached her, her skin darker from the days in the hot sun. She was wearing her Arlathan Heart openly, and beamed when Felix reached her, stopping an appropriate distance away.

“You look well,” he said warmly, and Dorian rolled his eyes as he brushed past him, heading to where Bull, also considerably darker, was laughing at something Blackwall had said. Sera and Solas were bickering about something, both of them brown from the sun and still wearing the burnoose common in western Orlais. He slipped past them and reached Bull, smiling fondly up at him.

“I'd best leave you two to your reunion,” Blackwall chuckled, taking his horses reins to lead her away. “Good to see you, Dorian.”

Bull wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they followed after him to take Killer to the barn.

“So, have any fun while I was gone?” Bull asked. 

'Sparred with Felix. Read.' Dorian shrugged. 'You?'

“Oh, man, you would've loved it. We found this crazy old Tevinter place that was frozen in time, and there was a dragon- but we didn't get to kill it yet, and...”

Dorian let him ramble, smiling fondly as Bull got Killer rubbed down and put away. There was a commotion from above, and he glanced back to see the tall travel banners of the Fereldan royalty fluttering their way into the courtyard.

“Oh, yeah, and apparently King Alistair decided to show up since his wife is coming to visit,” Bull added. “The Warden. She'll be here in a few days.”

Dorian yelped, hitting him on the arm, his eyes wide as saucers. Bull laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to drag him away.

oOo

The Warden arrived at dawn three days later, riding a sleek, slender gelding and carrying a very businesslike bow and sword in the Dalish style. The Inner Circle convened in the War Room with King Alistair in tow, and got their first glimpse of Tana Theirin, Queen of Ferelden.

She was a slender woman, with large green eyes, impossibly high cheekbones, rich olive skin, and brown hair pulled back into a tight, slick bun. She wore plain leather armor, a plain gold band on her left hand her sole jewelry, but all of that paled in comparison to her tattoos.

“No one told me you had vallaslin,” Herah said blankly. Solas looked ready to kill her.

Tana sighed, rubbing her forehead as Alistair soothingly rubbed her shoulders. The tattoos weren't a style that Dorian had ever seen before, but they were quietly beautiful. They curved up over her chin, and down onto her cheekbones, with some spreading over her forehead.

“Clan Brecellia was kind enough to adopt me in name after I renounced my family line so Fergus would be free to take the title without any lingering concerns,” she said, touching a line under her eye. Her voice was high and musical, something of a surprise on such a warlike woman. “And they aren't technically vallaslin. They're just facial tattoos on me, no ties to any of the Creators. After the Blight, I went back and lived with them for a while to get my head on straight, and they thought it would be a good way to tie us together after what happened. I can't have vallaslin, I'm human.” Tana leaned back against her husband, who rubbed her shoulders soothingly. “They are done in the style of vallaslin, and they are styled after vallaslin, but they are _not_ true vallaslin, only a declaration of my new family and my love for them. Are we good?”

Solas visibly relaxed, and Tana's lips quirked into a smile. Herah coughed awkwardly.

“Don't worry, _hahren_ ,” Tana said, amused. “I'm not so gone that I can think to claim the cultural history of the Elvhen. My family is Elvhen, but I am not.” She took another drink from the goblet set in front of her and exhaled slowly. “So. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I think I may have found a cure for the Blight.”

There was a ruckus of noise immediately, and Tana held up a hand for silence.

“I don't know for certain,” she said as Herah sat down heavily, her face gone pale. “But we think it may have something to do with dragons. I need to speak to Grand Enchanter Fiona, if she's available at some point today. And then we will need to begin tests.”

“Of course,” Herah said hoarsely. “Whatever you desire, it's yours. Tell my people and we'll do our best to get it to you.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Tana said, frowning a little. “I'm sorry, are you well?”

Herah managed a shaky smile. “My apologies, it's just...” she glanced at Dorian, clearly remembering the dark future. “I've seen attempts at curing the Blight go very, very wrong before. There was- well. The point is, we will do what we can, but if you start dissecting people in my basement I'll have to throw you out.”

Tana blanched, taking her husband's hand. “I assure you, we will not be coming to that, ever.”

“Thank you.” Herah stood, smoothing down her shirt. “If you don't mind, I'll leave you to it. We have to get started on our campaign out to the Dales, and I need to have a few words with our resident mathematician.”

“Of course,” Tana said, and Herah slipped away as Alistair and Cullen began a glaring contest.

oOo

The shouting match that followed Felix's learning about Tana's arrival and work was really quite impressive. From outside in the practice ring, it was out of real earshot, but they could hear the voices echoing down from Herah's chambers. Shokrakar and Bull kept exchanging looks while Dorian, Krem, and Dalish sparred against Meraad. The Chargers had arrived the day before the Warden, and were riding off the high of a job well done.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” Bull said at last, “but they're involved.”

“How involved?” Shokrakar asked, watching as Meraad tossed Dalish across the ring, only to get thrown back by Krem. 

“Involved enough that there was a discussion in which words usually reserved for relationships that aren't three weeks old were exchanged,” Bull said, and Shokrakar groaned, rubbing her scarred forehead.

“Koslun's rack, I thought we wouldn't have to worry about this. Bron told me about the betrothal.”

Bull leaned against the wall, a little concerned. “What do you mean, worry about it?”

Shokrakar shook her head. “You know jack fucking shit about Vashoth politics, Bull. Herah running off and joining up with a kith of mercenaries? A huge “fuck you” to her family and community. Bettani prides itself on being the center of vashoth culture. Lady Justice is the most influential judge south of Val Firmin, even if she is a ox-woman. Maybe she does love the little math mage, but it won't be any good when he up and dies and we're left with an _imekari_ in mourning and Lady Justice looking to leverage her power by pushing her into another, more politically useful marriage.”

“That's fucked up.”

“That's politics,” Shokrakar snorted. “Meraad! Get those horns up!”

Bull watched for a moment then paused, looking back at Shokrakar. “Wait, what do you mean _another_ marriage?”

Shokrakar chuckled. “You mean to tell me that you think Herah won't want the whole world to know of the sacrifice he made? He's Tevinter, history will wipe him out if she doesn't marry him and make the whole world see him. Just you wait.”

She walked forward to go and yell more effectively at Meraad, and Bull muttered, “That's what I was afraid of.”

oOo

“We're taking both crews out to the Emerald Graves and Exalted Plains,” Herah said tersely that evening, rubbing her forehead as she looked over the maps before her. The tea was set out and steaming still, and Shokrakar and Bull exchanged glances. “I'm sending the Chargers to the Emerald Graves, the Valo-kas to the Exalted Plains. Varric, Vivienne, and Cassandra will be my base team, and we'll switch out people as we go. I want the entirety of the Dales clear of Rifts before the month is out, and we're dealing with the blighted Freemen and civil war on top of all of that. And that's without making friends with the Dalish while we're there. They have enough problems as is, we're helping them wherever we can and I want treaties of protection drawn up with every single clan we run across. We'll go in and clean out as many rifts as we can, sweep back and forth until the whole place is clear of them. In the mean time, I'd like you to establish camps and help where you can.”

“Got it, boss,” Bull said quietly, and Shokrakar nodded.

“We leave in the morning?” She asked, and Herah nodded, looking utterly exhausted. She slowly folded in on herself, all the fight going out of her.

“We don't have terribly much time,” she said quietly. “I'll do my best to get everything ready by this evening so we can leave early.”

“On it,” Bull said, and they left her kneeling in the War Room, quietly drinking her tea.

Shokrakar waited until they were in the Great Hall before muttering, “Well. _This_ will be a fun trip.”

oOo

Felix was there to see them off, trading quiet words with Dorian in the blue pre-dawn light. Bull settled himself on Killer, next to Shokrakar. The other Captain was half asleep, dozing in the saddle with the ease of long practice. Katoh trotted up on a nimble warhorse, nudging Shokrakar and handing her a flask. Shokrakar blearily opened it, grimacing when the scent of strong coffee wafted out, steaming.

“ _Vashedan_ ,” she groaned, and took a few mouthfuls before handing it back. “ _Ebadim saam-raas, Orassian antaam. Bas dathrasi, bas hissradim. Anaan essam ari-sataareth, hah!_ ” She laughed bitterly. “ _Itwasaam ari-sataareth itwasit._ ” 

It took Bull a second to translate the terms, his mind firmly stuck in Common. _They are all nothing-things, the Orlesian army. Foreigner pigs, foreign liars. Victory is in the Upholding One-_ the Qunlat title for Inquisitor. _We all fall if the Upholding One falls._

Bull settled in his saddle, smiling wryly. “ _Kost, Kithshok Shokrakar. Maraas shokra ari-sataareth haar qalaba._ ” Peace, Captain Shokrakar. Nothing struggles against the Upholding One except idiots.

She chuckled, leaning over to punch his shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Ha, _hissrad hissradim. Sataam, antaam, kari-an,- ataas shokra!_ ” The liar lies. The world, the army, myself- a glorious struggle! 

Bull rolled his eyes, unable to help a chuckle himself. “Meravas, Shokrakar.” So shall it be, Shokrakar.

She took the coffee back from Katoh, drinking again. “I break bread and drink with the Ben-Hassrath,” she said, leaning on the pommel of her saddle. “My enemy, my destroyer. I work for a child, a chained cannon, the one that upholds. I sit with Orlesian nobles, I sing with the Tevene, I speak with the Marchers, and fight with the Fereldan. Truly, this is the work of nations. When they come to crash upon our shores again, I will lift up my axe and dress in the finest vitaar, and when they come for me I will tell them, Viddasala, you cannot have me.” She lifted her head as the dawn broke over the mountains, light streaming down past the walls and the Frostbacks to make her gleam. For a second Bull couldn't breathe, struck by her. She looked the picture of the Goddess, wild and powerful, forever unbroken. “Viddasala, I have given my soul to the change of the world, and nothing will sway me from its defense.”

Bull couldn't even think of a response, merely bowed deep in the saddle as his heart struggled to calm.

 _Meaning_. What he would give to feel it again.

Herah walked out, dressed in her most businesslike armor with the wyvern style vitaar on. Her hair was in all its braids, fresh from a mornings work while she and Bull sat quietly together and prepared for the day, and small charms for safety and protection had been woven in as decor as well. Her armor was in the same deep red as the red accents of her vitaar, and the white skull paint on her face gleamed in the early morning light. She swung onto her horse, the strange stone with the hole in it still around her neck. Felix broke away when Dorian mounted up, and went to Herah's side. Everyone politely averted their gaze as the two murmured something, eyes fixed on each other, and when Felix stepped away she was holding a strip of golden silk. 

By the time they rode out, she wore it on her left wrist, and the look on her face kept anyone from daring to comment.

oOo

They made it into Orlais without much trouble and the crews split, the Valo-kas heading North with Herah while the Chargers swung down, descending on the Graves with Solas, Blackwall, and Sera. They made their way through the Graves, mapping as they went. By the time they reached a comfortable camp in an old pavilion under a charming brook that was pretending it could be a river everyone was extraordinarily cheerful. The Chargers, at this point just the inner circle (the others having stayed at other camps), were all settled down for a good drink and the pleasure of warm weather for once.

“Krem!” Bull yelled once he'd finished setting up the tents. “Go get some water for the stew.”

Krem's head popped out of the larger tent, indignant. “What? Why me? You're the one twice as broad as all of us combined!”

“I'm also the one that's been hauling all your shit halfway across the Dales,” he snorted. Dorian emerged in the frame of the pavilion entrance, gave Bull a slow once over, and smirked. Bull flexed dramatically, making everyone laugh.

“See? You could use some definition, Chief,” Krem teased, and Dorian laughed.

'I like you just how you are,' he signed, walking over to stand on tip toes and kiss him. He made a rude gesture as the others wolf whistled at them, and yelped as Bull picked him bodily up to make it all the more dramatic. 

Once he was back down on the ground, fussing over his travel gear, Krem walked over with another bucket. “C'mon, I'm not going alone.”

“Bring us back a bear!” Skinner yelled from where she was picketing the mounts.

Krem laughed as he slung an arm over Dorian's shoulders, and the two walked away from camp with their buckets.

“I missed this, you know,” Krem said as they wound their way to the river up the old steps. The evening was upon them, the warmth of the day slowly starting to seep away as golden light filtered through the trees. “With you and the chief gone all the time, we get lonely.”

Dorian quickly signed, 'We do miss you.'

“I know,” Krem said, as they turned the corner and walked up to the river. The water was pleasantly cool, and they both took a moment to enjoy the stillness in the shallows. “It's hard, some times, to remember that you're off saving the world. Training with Shokrakar's crew is great, but it's not the same without you.” He sighed, shaking his head with a smile. “But whatever. We do what we have to, right? And we get to spend time with you when you're back in Skyhold. We work, we drink, we fuck, we train. We're practically on a paid vacation at this point.” He grinned. “It's good to have you back. And this looks all sorts of silty.”

Dorian nodded, and signed, 'Perhaps we should try further up the river? Deeper water.'

“Sounds good to me.”

They walked west up to the bend of the river, dipping in the deep buckets to fill them when a crack alerted them. Dorian's head shot up, and Krem's hand was on his knife as eight Venatori stepped out from between the owl statues directly across from them.

The groups stared at each other for moment. The leader of the Venatori was a tall, angular man with a poorly trimmed beard and frizzy, frazzled red hair. An ugly staff with a wickedly curved blade sat on his back. As Dorian slowly shifted back, steadying his weight, a slow, dark smile spread on his face.

“Oh,” he purred, “I'd know that face anywhere.”

Krem leaped into action as the Venatori swarmed forward, Dorian calling fire to his hands and throwing it as a barrier washed over Krem. The leader pulled his staff out, countering it as fast as he could. A fireball shot past one of his blocks, singing his beard, and Krem lost the flow of their battle after that. He only had two knives against two rogues and a trio of warriors, not to mention the other two mages who were concentrating on Dorian.

It was a short fight, but he took out two of the warriors with well placed blades before one of the rogues grabbed his arms and pinned him down on the bank. He watched, helpless as Dorian was overpowered and thrown backwards against a rock, slumping. The buckets lay spilled, one starting to float downstream. The leader walked over, ice trailing in fits and spurts through the water behind him, and grabbed Dorian by the hair, pulling him up.

“Don't you touch him!” Krem yelled, struggling in their grip. “Don't you lay a fucking finger on him, you asshole, let him go-” The man holding him slammed his head to the ground, silencing him as stars swam before his eyes. His jaw ached so badly for a split second he was terrified it had cracked.

“Dorian _fucking_ Pavus,” the leader spat, mouth curled into a cruel smile. Dorian struggled weakly, reaching up with bloodied hands to claw at his wrist. “You're going to make a very nice gift.”

Krem opened his mouth to scream, jaw be damned, but with a burst of pain to his head, everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	25. Captive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Threats of physical violence, loss of body autonomy, physical restraints, canon typical violence, hunger, drugged compliance, and dehumanization. No one is physically harmed, only threatened. There is carry over of injuries from the previous chapter that are mentioned.
> 
> I think that's everything. If I forgot anything, please let me know. If you feel you should skip this chapter, the coming chapters are considerably more boring for our heroes.

  


**“Of the many peoples of Tevinter,  
** **these are those to fear-**  
**The Tribune, who believes the world burns for him.**  
**The Incaesor, who has no fear left and magic enough to make the world burn.**  
**The Soporati, who will be the cause of the world burning**  
**for the injustice that he has faced.”**  
**\- From the writings of Archon Daherius, Steel Age 6:22.**

oOo

Krem came to slowly, his head aching like a herd of brontos had stampeded over it. His arms were bound behind him, his legs chained, and when he tried to open his mouth he found it firmly unable to do so. That got him awake, jerking in his bonds, and his eyes snapped open.

Muzzled. They'd fucking _muzzled_ him.

It was a leather affair, curving tight to his jaw and strapped in four places behind and on top of his head. He spared a moment to be grateful that it didn't cover his nose as well before taking in his surroundings.

He was in a large, spacious tent, circular, his legs staked to a chain attached to a small post pounded into the ground. The tent had a small cot, a portable writing desk with papers and books on it, and a series of saddlebags in the corner. A rug, neat and handmade, lay by the bed, and an armor stand stood near the flap. Dorian was similarly bound, arms behind him and legs chained, but he lay still and unmoving too far away for Krem to reach. His hair was mussed by the straps of his own muzzle.

Krem jerked as the tent flap was pushed open. A small, clearly nervous man slipped inside, walking past him to go and rummage in one of the saddlebags. He was darker than Dorian and Herah, probably from Marothius, with a shaved head and freckles made darker from exposure to the sun. He fumbled a wine service out of the bag, stopping a moment to hold it to his chest and shake. Krem stared, baffled. Not a slave, clearly, and the fear screamed soporati, but he seemed too refined for a soporati. It was the way he flicked his fingers, the careful movements, the faint look of disapproval at the silver. And, of course, the rune rings on his fingers.

The man stood, holding the wine service, and went to another bag to pull out a bottle of wine. This got an exasperated, annoyed look before being tucked under his arm. The man turned to go, and froze when he saw Krem watching him. 

“I'm sorry,” the man whispered, and his accent was indeed heavily Marothian. Krem was getting more confused by the second. “I'll have tell them you're awake. Saevus won't be happy if I don't, and I don't want him mad while Terus is away.”

The man was more of a boy, Krem realized with no small amount of horror. He was maybe only 20 at the most, still lingering on awkward teen years and not full filled out. A possibly Laetan Marothian bumpkin running around with the Venatori, acting as a wine bearer? How in the Makers name did anyone from Marothius end up out here? Marothius was barely in Tevinter, existing on the strange not-border with Antiva on the cusp of the Hundred Pillars. Surely the Venatori couldn't have spread that far?

The man ducked out, and he was left alone once more. Shifting his legs, he grimaced at how well chained he was. After some struggle, he managed to sit up, and focused on the tent flap. The muzzle would make things difficult when they escaped. 

The tent flap opened again, and this time their captor, probably the previously mentioned Saevus, stepped inside. His hair had been pulled back into a tight bun, the red slightly singed in places, and his beard was neater than it had been. Krem glared, and he smiled, showing off sharp teeth.

“Yes, the muzzle was an excellent idea,” he said, snapping his fingers. Four burly zealots ducked inside, two to each of them. Krem was bodily carried out, chain clanking behind him, Dorian presumably following. He blinked at the sudden sunlight, and his heart sank as he realized where they were.

Somehow, they'd been brought all the way to the outskirts of the Exalted Plains. He'd been to the area before, but they were an impossible distance from the calming presence of the Graves. How much time had he lost?

The Venatori camp was small and extremely neat, kept with military precision. His eyes flicked over what was visible, soaking up the information and cataloging it.

Three mages, one spellbinder, two stalkers, and a host of zealots, but no brutes or gladiators. A small, compact camp, horses placidly tethered not far away. No large tables to need moving, extremely light tents, a few bedrolls out in the open.

They were looking at a strike team.

He was carried into another tent, his feet staked down again, and Dorian was gently set down beside him. Krem's skin crawled when he saw his face.

Dorian's eyes were blank and lifeless, and when Krem inhaled he smelled the sickly sweet mix of deathroot and mage bane. No wonder Dorian wasn't responding, he was drugged half out of his mind. The mixture was called Last Resort, and was usually only used when a mage had caught sick and needed to be sedated. He'd seen it in use plenty of times when the healers were working on Laetan soldiers that had been hurt, as a way to keep them still and compliant instead of lashing out. Dorian wouldn't be going anywhere fast- he probably couldn't even stand up on his own at the moment. Krem remembered how the Laetan had been while drugged with it. They were like children, small and scared, hoping desperately for a kind hand and someone to make the world stop moving so quickly. Dorian, with all his many levels of trauma, was going to be a wreck when he came out of the fog. 

There was a camp chair at the back of the tent, and Saevas sauntered over to it, dropping down with a happy sigh. The wine bearer hurried forward, and was about to pour when a dark, extremely displeased voice said, “Saevus, I do believe that you are in my seat.”

The smug look on Saevus' face immediately drained away, and Krem's skin crawled as slow, deliberate steps brought a man to the chair before them. Spurs jangled on hard black boots, well shined and armored. Spurs were never a good sign. Saevus scrambled out of the chair, backing away to the side.

The man was tall and broad in a way that Tevene men rarely were, with a barrel of a chest and burly arms. His head was shaved, he wore a long saber at his side, had an impressive lightning staff on his back, and he dressed in the no-nonsense military attire of the Laetan mages. A solitary patch on his left arm declared him a Tribune, but he wore no further identifying marks. His face was what a generous man might call distinguished, but most would call wrecked. A long nose had been broken at least twice, heavy scars raked down one side of his face, and a scar across his lip ran from the center of his cheek to his chin. He considered the pair before him with some satisfaction, a faint smile twitching his lips.

“We found them in the Graves, ser,” Saevus began. “The collared one is Dorian of House Pavus- the one everyone thought was dead. I was in the Circle at Minrathous with him while he was finishing his work for Enchanter.”

 _Pavus_? Krem managed to contain his shock. Dorian had been extremely careful to never reveal his surname, and now he knew why. If House Pavus found out he, the last of the bloodline, were alive and well and very definitely not in Tevinter, there would be a war trying to get him back.

“I thought we could send him back to Magister Pavus,” Saevus continued, babbling a little now. “He's offered a substantial reward for any information about his son, and-”

The leader held up his hand and Saevus instantly quieted. 

“Maximus,” he said mildly, holding out his hand, and the wine bearer hurried forward with a goblet for him. He sipped delicately, looking them over.

Dorian whined softly at his side, shivering a little as the leader let his eyes rest on him. 

“Well done, Saevus,” he said with great satisfaction. “What a pleasant surprise.” He lounged back in his chair, passing the glass to Maximus and steepling his fingers. “You'll make an excellent addition to our camp. I see that his training has slipped, but I do my best to correct unruly behaviors without beating them out. It would be such a shame to damage such a beautiful thing.” He rose, glancing at Saevus. “Bring them back to my tent. I think I'd like a word in private with Lieutenant Aclassi.”

Krem's blood turned to ice as he was dragged upright.

The man knew his _name_.

oOo- Two Years Previous, on the border of Nevarra and Orlais

It had been all of two months since the Chargers formed when The Iron Bull pulled Krem aside, set Skinner to work running people through drills, and took him to a quiet, out of the way clearing. In one huge hand he carried a vial about the size of Krem's thumb with less than a thimbleful of liquid in it, and when they sat on a rock he handed it over.

“Today,” he announced, “I'm going to teach you about fear.”

Krem looked up at him skeptically. “I think I've got a pretty good grasp on the concept, Chief.”

Bull laughed, dark and unpleasant. “No, you really don't.” He tapped the vial with one of the claws on his damaged hand, making it ring slightly. “Do you know what this is?”

“Not a clue.”

“This, little Krem-puff, is saar-qamek.”

Krem almost threw the vial, dumping it hastily back in Bull's hand. “What the _hell_ , chief.”

Bull laughed again, this time with a bit of real humor in it. “Don't worry, this isn't enough to do any real damage. This is an exercise in thought.”

Krem eyed him warily, looking back at the jar. “Explain.”

Bull stretched languidly, the little bottle glinting as his arms stretched out and back popped. “Saar-qamek is good for one thing, and one thing only. Fear. I'm going to teach you how to master it. I'm Qunari, Krem, they're going to check in on me eventually. I'm going to have to leave eventually. And I want you to have a very, very good grasp on the power of fear by the time you do, as well as an immunity to saar-qamek. Do you trust me?”

Krem pursed his lips, holding his hand out for the vial. “Unfortunately.”

“That's what I like to hear.” Bull handed him the saar-qamek. “Drink.”

Krem drank.

The effects were instantaneous. His mouth burned, and his head shook like a horse fighting the bit in its mouth. His skin prickled under his armor, suddenly everything too sensitive, too much, an overload as he swore he felt long fingers stroke through his hair with a vindictive tug on the ends. Bull's hands grabbed his wrists when he would have gone to tear his own eyes out from the shapes and figures that seemed to crouch on the edges of his vision, his mind screaming to run, to stay, that everything was coming to take him back and pin him down and kill his family and

“Krem.”

He focused on the voice, eyes rolling a little wildly as he struggled to concentrate again.

“That's a little better, come on. You're better than this. Tell me your name.”

A question. His mouth gaped, a hoarse, raspy yell escaping as his hands trembled in an iron grip. Bull's eye burned into him, and suddenly he was back in the ugly little border town bar, a dead tribune gazing at him with sightless, glazed over eyes. 

“What's your name?”

“Cremisius Aclassi,” he rasped out as the world spun back into the grove. He could see the demons slipping through the trees, magisters with pet slaves with gaunt cheeks hunting through the slums for victims no one would miss. “Cremisius Aclassi, Lieutenant.”

“Good, good.” Thumbs rubbed soothingly over the tender inner skin of his wrist. “Who am I?”

Krem licked his lips, jerking in his hands. “Stop, let me go, let me- he's _behind you_ ,” he hissed as his former commanding officer strode forward, his vicious mace stained a hideous red. 

“It's just us here, Krem. What's my name?”

Krem tugged harder, but the hands just tightened down, and he let out a low, terrified wail. “Please, no-” 

The mace rose and he stared, horrified, transfixed, watching the downward swing-

and he vanished, leaving them alone once more with the demons hiding in the shadows. They made no move forward, and the magisters disappeared into the trees, the slaves following and leaving a trail of blood behind them. He watched them go, avoiding the demon's eyes before turning back. The solitary eye was slightly odd, still a strange thing to try and settle with.

“The Iron Bull,” he whispered at last, heart pounding. “The Iron Bull.”

“Good.” The smile was the only thing it didn't warp. “Very good.”

They went away and practiced once a week until Krem could drink the entire bottle and not even blink at the hallucinations it caused. He learned the fine art of controlling fear in battle, learning to ride the waves of panic without being pulled under.

Of course, none of that mattered if he couldn't _remember_ to put that training to good use.

oOo

“I am Tribune Abraxus Terus,” the man said as Maximus carefully poured wine for both of them before stepping behind Krem to remove the muzzle. Krem had been seated across the small desk from Terus, while Dorian had been made to kneel at Terus' heels. His eyes were still dead, glazed over, and only glimmered slightly when Terus gently corrected his posture. “And you are Cremisius Aclassi, currently of the Bull's Chargers, if my information is correct. I have to say, I was not expecting you here. You look much better than you did when I last saw you.”

“I'm sorry, have we met?” Krem asked stiffly, hands balled into fists in his lap. 

“You wouldn't remember. You were much younger then, I a mere captain. It was shortly after the Red Hill Bandits were taken out, and you were given your first commendation.” Terus opened a thick book on his desk, dipping his pen in ink to begin writing. “You were far smaller then, not fully grown into yourself. I believe you were under the command of the late Captain Amerius, may his bloody hands forever twitch under the ground.”

Krem remembered then. His first proper assignment out in the field, hill bandits that had been ravaging towns near Solas. Captain Amerius, a lecherous beast with a slow body and lightning fast mind, had set a trap that had nearly killed them all. Krem took a spar to the side and learned the fine art of bribery all in one day. 

“I heard a story once, not terribly many years ago, of a young and stupid tribune who died on the border of Nevarra and Tevinter,” Terus said, not looking up from his file. Krem could feel a bead of sweat dripping down the back of his neck. “It is said that he died in the line of duty, though I have my doubts. His name was Andrus Temeni, his father some backwater brat out of the Free Marches. He was, by all accounts, a thoroughly despicable example of what power can do to a man.”

Krem remembered him, remembered the stink of his breath as he laughed while Krem was pinned to the tavern floor. He was a small, vicious little man with a wicked talent for ice magic and a fondness for flogging. He'd been Laetan by one generation, his own birth, and a nasty piece of work. Bull had lost the eye because of him. Krem could taste the saar-qamek in the back of his throat, the familiar fear welling up, and focused past it.

_What the hell’s all that training for if you can’t make it past this?_

“His target was an interesting thing.” Terus set the pen aside, and picked up the other file. “Staff Sergeant Cremisius Aclassi, one of the most decorated of that rank, fled rather than face a fine or the slave shackles, the charges for which entirely unspecified in his commanding officers report. There were rumors, of course, quickly dismissed. It is well known and documented that Cremisius Aclassi has always been, and will always be a man, regardless of how many pairs of socks he seemed to hoard.”

He knew his name, he _KNEW_.

Terus continued, not looking up. “It is said that a Qunari, nearly seven and a half feet tall, with great pointed horns like a bull, was the one to do the deed. The bodies of the Tribune and his men were found, very dead, dumped outside of town. The villagers refused to say a word about the Qunari's motives for such an attack, even under duress. It was quite moving. It was wondered what could have possessed a Qunari to take on seven armed and deadly men and manage to kill them all without help.”

Krem could feel his heart in his throat, but he kept his face straightforward, his stance perfect parade rest, and met Terus eye to eye, daring him to comment.

A small, pleased curve was the only indication that Krem had just won the fight.

“Certainly something to consider,” Terus said, shuffling another sheet of paper over to himself. “As I recall from your dossier, your father was a tailor.”

“You’re not wrong, ser.” Krem blinked, startled by the sudden shift in topics.

“Mmm. I trust you were taught the basics?” Terus perched delicate pince-nez on his nose, glaring down at the paper like it had dared offend him.

“Only the very basics, ser. I was never apprenticed out.”

The eyes came back up. “Can you mend clothing?”

“I- yes, ser.” Krem watched as Terus reached down, absently scratching at Dorian’s head where the man had drooped against his leg. Dorian looked exhausted, and Terus smiled almost fondly, like he was a pet. His skin crawled. “I’m decent with a needle.”

Terus made a note on the paper, nodding sharply. “Very well. Mending it is, until we decide how to deal with you. I would say ransom, but I can't imagine when we'll have the time to arrange an exchange. I understand that Gereon Alexius is with the Inquisition, as is Servis. They are dearly missed, but we'll see whether you're worth enough to trade back.”

Privately, Krem thought Herah might send the bodies back and set fire to the entirety of Orlais to get them returned to her. He was looking forward to the fight. 

“I expect we’ll put Dorian to work with the laundry, or helping Maximus with research once he's been retrained,” Terus continued. “Even pampered little Alti can’t mess laundry up too badly. We wear black for a reason.” He set the paper aside, carefully jostling Dorian back to a semblance of awake. “For now you’ll stay with Maximus. And lieutenant, I expect you to behave.” Terus’ eyes went flinty again. “I’d hate to have to happen to your friend here. Slaves must keep their place, and I will not hesitate to make him your whipping boy. You're too good for it, but he's nothing anymore.”

His hand closed around Dorian’s throat, and Dorian made a muffled, terrified noise. 

Terus shushed him, letting go and stroking his hair. Dorian relaxed again, but his eyes were starting to clear a little. Terus slid a finger under the collar, examining it. “This is fine workmanship, if very brutal. Explain.”

Krem swallowed hard. “It keeps him from speaking,” he said reluctantly, still shaken. “It used to suppress magic but it's been broken so that it doesn't any more.”

Terus tutted softly, stoking the ring of the collar. “Such a cruel instrument. Effective, certainly. But no matter.” He sat back up, any hint of a pleasant attitude fading away. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. Should you try and run, should you hurt my men, should you put a toe out of line, I won't lay a finger on you. But _him_? I will flog him until there's not a piece of flesh on his back for your crimes. I wouldn't enjoy damaging such a beautiful piece of breeding, but I will do it, and I will do so without a trace of remorse. You are far more valuable than a mere slave. Are we clear, Lieutenant Aclassi?”

Krem looked at Dorian’s face, still battered from their capture, and back up at Terus’ cold, intelligent eyes. “Transparently.”

oOo

They left a half hour later, legs free but hands bound and muzzles still on. A long rope had been attached to Dorian's collar, and Dorian, now awake, was made to walk next to Terus' tall, spirited bay. Krem had been outfitted with his own collar, though thankfully one of supple leather (formerly reins that had been trimmed down) instead of a hard one like Dorian's. He'd had been leashed as well and followed next to Maximus, who had the worlds most doe eyed, slow mare. Krem's leash was chain about halfway up, and leather the rest of the way. With it hooked onto the pommel of the saddle, he was going exactly nowhere fast.

They left the borders of the Dales without trouble, and all Krem could think was that it was a good thing they were used to walking long distances. Dorian had yet to falter, though Krem had no idea how he was keeping up without jogging.

By early evening he was exhausted, barely keeping himself moving fast enough to save himself from being dragged. They had wound up at the back of the group, Saevus leading while Terus and Maximus rode together in silence. Krem stumbled on a rock, groaning as the leash tightened the collar on his neck, and struggled forward again. Up ahead, Saevus whistled sharply, holding up his hand. The group came to a halt, and Terus tossed Dorian's leash to Maximus, who looped it onto the pommel with Krem's. Krem watched as Terus rode up to Saevus, the two of them quietly conversing before Saevus nodded. Terus wheeled his horse about, lifting a hand to signal a few people forward. There was more quiet conversation, and the group rode away, disappearing below the ridge they were on. Saevus leaned on his his saddle, watching whatever was happening intently.

Maximus looked around furtively before beckoning Krem closer. Wary, he complied, and Maximus hurriedly reached down, unbuckling the straps of the muzzle and pulling it off. Krem groaned in relief, dragging in a gasp of fresh, clean air as he worked his jaw.

“Not for long,” Maximus whispered nervously. “They'll be back soon.” He did the same for Dorian, who whimpered slightly and leaned against the mare. They were both panting with exhaustion, and Krem felt his eyes burn with misery as hoof beats approached and the muzzle was pulled back on. Dorian let out a sad, broken sound as his own was tightened again, and Krem was about ready to try and make a run for it after all when Terus crested the hill, two more horses with saddles and no riders being lead behind him.

Krem's heart leapt with hope, only for it to be dashed when he saw they had no reins, only lead ropes. 

The leashes were taken from the pommel and they were put on the horses with minimal fuss. Off they went again, Dorian and Krem kept next to Maximus, the leashes now tied to his saddle properly. As they descended the ridge, Krem saw two bodies lying crumpled at the edge of the road- a man and woman, arms wrapped around each other, blood pooling beneath them.

His eyes burned and he looked away, fury swamping him as Dorian silently started to cry. Beyond, storm clouds gathered in the distance along the mountains.

oOo

By true nightfall they were perhaps halfway to Val Firmin, and the rain clouds that had started on the horizon had finally come to a head.

Dorian curled up next to him as the rain poured down, and Krem let him tuck his head under his chin. Maximus poked at their little fire as one of the zealots watched, obviously bored, and Krem closed his eyes. The downpour didn't look like it would be letting up soon. They were lucky to have found a large, cavernous cave that was plenty dry and uninhabited but he was miserable, frustrated, and out of his league. Dorian was still heavily dosed with magebane, his mind fuzzy from the high of the deathroot again. He was going to be no help until they got... wherever it was they were going. So far as he could tell, they were heading due West. Perhaps out to the Western Approach? Krem remembered, vaguely, mentions of the Venatori out at Griffon Wing Keep and the area near it.

The exhaustion hit him like a hammer then, the reality of the situation sinking in. They were captives, Dorian was drugged so heavily he could barely think, no one knew where they were, and they were in the middle of a group of extremely well trained Venatori that had no intention of letting them go.

Dorian pulled away, and he opened tired eyes to see him signing, fingers clumsy from the deathroot.

'We survive. We carry on. We are not things.'

Krem nodded, and Dorian settled back down, tucking his head back under Krem's chin. 

_We will survive._

Krem wrapped an arm around Dorian and took a slow, deep breath. They would survive. They would work this out.

And when the time was right, they would escape.

oOo

Two more days in the saddle pushed them to the limits of exhaustion, and by the time the reached the edges of the Western Approach Krem was lightheaded with hunger. Dorian was asleep in the saddle in the lazy way that only a man taught to ride from age four could be, Terus' watchful eye keeping him from falling over. The group had pushed hard past Val Firmin, and hadn't stopped for food since early morning. As he watched a fennec run past, Krem could feel the dizziness starting to sneak up on him. His stomach had passed growling and was into the stage where it debated whether or not it could eat itself.

“Almost there,” Saevus called back down the train. “If we ride hard, about five minutes.”

Terus signaled him to lead on, and Krem forced himself to grab the saddle as Max jolted, whistling sharply for the horses to pick up speed. They broke into a gallop, outstripping the ranks of the zealots and the spellbinder. 

“Max!” Saevus roared, but Maximus clearly wasn't going to listen to him. They passed Saevus, Krem clinging to the pommel as Max lead them through the twists of sandblasted rock, past a pack of highly uninterested hyenas, and around two massive spiders that spat venom at them. They came up to a shaded area, scrubby area between tight rocks, and Maximus practically launched himself off his horse as a man stepped out of the shadows of a massive Tevene gate.

The horses skidded to a halt, and Krem was more than a little addled by the time his brain caught up to the conversation- and, more importantly, the baffling things that were happening in front of him.

Maximus and the mystery man were kissing, rather frantically, and Mystery Man looked like he was going to cry. Mystery Man was dressed like a rogue, but not a Venatori- he looked almost like an Inquisition scout, with his tan coat and light colors, much more suited to a desert than the black and yellow wearing Venatori. Long, curly dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun that some of the curls had escaped, and the start of a beard had had time to start up on his face. He was built like Dorian, sturdy but sleek as a viper, and had the dusky coloring of the inner Imperium, perhaps a few shades darker than Krem's father, who was from Vyrantium. 

“I'm sorry,” Mystery Man said, his accent heavily Neromenian. “He sent me to the Oasis, I am so sorry.”

“It doesn't matter, you're here now,” Maximus said, pressing their foreheads together. “There is so much I need to tell you.”

Mystery Man stepped away, looking up at Krem, who blinked back at him. “This is new,” he said, quirking an eyebrow as his eyes followed the leash and collar.

“He's part of the news. Cortarus, Dorian Pavus is _alive_ ,” Maximus said urgently. “He's been a slave for Maker knows how long, we have him here.”

Cortarus swore in a quick succession of languages. “You're certain it's him?”

“Saevus is positive. They were in the Circle together at Minrathous, maybe seven years ago. Terus is keeping him like this one, leashed. He's- he's mute. I don't know the full story, but you have to get word back to Maevaris, swear it,” Maximus insisted, grabbing Cortarus' hand. “Please. I'll never have this chance again.”

“I will, I swear. It will take time- they keep me on a tight chain.” Cortarus pulled him in for another quick, desperate kiss, and Krem stared. Things were moving very quickly, and everything was very confusing. “Soon, I swear, we'll be away. We just have to wait for the right time.”

“We take them with us,” Maximus insisted, fingers tightening in Cortarus' coat. “Swear it to me. You won't make me abandon him- abandon either of them. Never again.”

“You sweet, irrational man,” Cortarus muttered, kissing his forehead. “I promise. We will take them with us.”

The faint thunder of hoof beats came towards them, and Maximus swung back into the saddle. Cortarus stepped forward, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

“Saevus will be furious when he reaches me,” Maximus said urgently. “Don't be angry, please, no matter what he says or does.”

“You are my _husband_ ,” Cortarus hissed, agony crossing his face. “How do you expect me to not hate him?”

“Soon, Cor,” Maximus insisted as Krem's eyes bulged half out of his head. _Husband?_ “Soon we'll be away.”

Cortarus nodded, sighing, and stepping back. It was just in time, as Terus rounded the corner, the others in a billowing cloud behind them. He scowled at Maximus as the group reached him, and Maximus lowered his head.

“You and I will be having a discussion later,” Terus snapped, glaring at him. Dorian, apparently awake again and no longer drugged to complacency, glared at Terus before looking at Krem with worry. Krem tried to smile with his eyes, and Dorian cocked his head, raising an eyebrow.

Cortarus stepped forward again, back out of the shadows. “Ser.”

“Cortarus Tessairon,” Terus said, as if he were a particularly ugly thing he'd just found on his boot. “They sent you for this?”

“I am the best, ser,” Cortarus said shortly. “I see you arrived in one piece, and with extras attached.”

Saevus rode up next to Terus, his face a mask of fury. “Please tell me that I can at least make your little pet _bleed_ for that stunt he just pulled.”

Terus snapped his head around to glare at Saevus. “I will endeavor to pretend that you did not just say that,” he snarled, hands bursting into flames. “Be silent, you ass.”

Krem watched as Maximus quietly curled in on himself, ducking his head. Everything was very confusing, he was exhausted and hungry, and while it seemed like he'd made an ally, he wanted nothing more than to sit quietly back and figure out what in the name of all the Old Gods was going on. Cortarus was stiff with quiet rage, glaring at Saevus, and forced out a carefully measured breath.

“I was told to keep the gate safe. I have the other keys to get within, and I'll disguise your approach,” he said, nodding at the ornate doors further in. “The Inquisition cleaned it of all the things of possible use on the first floor, but we suspect from the writings that Lucanus left that there are ways further into the ruins. Magister Erimond will be here in a month.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed letter, passing it to Terus. “Your instructions. I'll likely be your go between for the next few months.”

“If you must,” Terus said, his tone pure venom. He tucked the letter away in his coat. “Very well. Dismissed.”

Cortarus bowed shortly, and went to sling a bow over his shoulder. He spared a look at Maximus, who managed a strained smile, and brushed away through the group.

Saevus watched him go with narrowed eyes, and Terus rode through the first gate, smiling triumphantly at the gates of the Still Ruins.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, sliding the key into the lock, “welcome to our new home.”


	26. Broken Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific trigger warnings for this chapter include: dehumanization and offhanded mentions of past suicides.

  
**“Of the many sorrows we see,**  
**this is the worst-**  
**to know freedom,**  
**when we cannot touch it.”**  
**\- Excerpt from the diary of Tarro, slave. 8:01 Blessed.**  


oOo

The Still Ruins were a wreck. A sandy, miserable wreck at that, with fabulous architecture that Dorian was certain was going to come crashing down at any second. It was the very picture of a Tevene summer home. He felt a sudden pang of homesickness as he looked around. The murmuring of the Venatori echoed off the tall arches, the stumps of ruins crashed on the floor like childhood blocks.

He trailed after Terus, wanting nothing more than to light him on fire, but the magebane was still in his system. Terus was rambling on and on about the design, practically gleeful, and all Dorian wanted was somewhere to lay down and sleep off the massive headache that the deathroot had left him. Saevus stalked behind them, hand on his sword, while Maximus slunk along with Krem's leash in a loose hand. Dorian's leash was kept tight, keeping him close to Terus. He already loathed the man, and how he yanked on his collar at times was doing nothing to ease that.

“We'll put the horses in the old stables, when we find them,” Terus said. “For now, however, this center sunken hall will do. I think we can rig some fences up.”

“Of course, ser,” Saevus said, waving one of the zealots to corral the beasts. They passed through a deeply red room that made Dorian's skin crawl, and out another door.

“If this is anything like the other ruins that I've seen, there'll be a bath house in the basement,” Terus continued as they walked up out into a courtyard. “Ah, look, office space on either side, and over along that other wall. I believe that was where the experiment was housed. I think it would be best if we set the zealots in that far hall in the interior. We'll set everyone to work cleaning the place tomorrow. So much sand is not to be tolerated. I intend to keep this as a summer home.”

“What of the Hall of Silence?” 

Dorian was confused until he remembered the inscriptions in the red room. The Hall of Silence? Perhaps this had been home to one of Dumat's priests.

Terus hummed softly, nodding to himself. “We will explore that later. I'm certain that there will be some useful pieces within. This home has withstood the elements for a remarkably long time, it will last a little longer.” He strode down into the courtyard itself, examining a pile of ash. “The bodies, it seems. The Inquisition was very thorough.”

“And Cortarus-”

Terus waved him off, jerking on Dorian's collar when he paused to look at one of the giant fallen statues. “Erimond, ignorant bastard that he is, has too tight a leash on him for him to be of any concern. He knows how to keep the bastard in line.” He'd lowered his voice, eyes flicking to where Maximus waited like a dark, anxious shadow by the door, Krem impassive beside him. “I don't want him getting upset.”

“And why not?” Saevus muttered. “He's barely a mage, there's nothing he can do. He's practically your slave, and too scared of what Erimond might do to that precious husband of his to try and step out of line.”

“Because,” Terus said, tightening his grip on Dorian's leash. “I like to think of myself as a kind man.”

Dorian wanted to scream.

oOo

The spellbinder and two of the zealots rappelled down to the lower level of the Hall of Silence to examine the machines and search deeper into the basement level while Krem and Dorian were taken and tethered in a side room from the main hall with a door blocked by rubble and a great deal of sand at the end of it. Terus apparently intended to set up his office in it, despite it being little better than a long hallway, and other rooms were entirely more suited to it.

They were tied to the staircase, thankfully out of the way of the sun, and left alone for the first time since their capture. Krem waited until the door closed to whisper, “Does the name Maevaris mean anything to you?”

Dorian jerked, eyes widening. 'T-I-L-A-N-I house,' he signed. 'A magister reverse of you. Very strong and smart, and beautiful. We were friends.'

“Well, apparently Maximus knows her,” he said, keeping his voice low. “And Cortarus is his husband. I don't know what's going on, but apparently he's planning to escape with us.”

Dorian sat back against the staircase, absorbing this. The name pricked at the back of his mind, but he couldn't place it.

'Wait, husband?'

oOo

The first night they were kept in the room that overlooked the Hall of Silence. Krem was chained to the floor by his neck with Dorian curled up in front of him. Somehow the room still stank of old blood, and the bodies of assorted men didn't help with the smell. Maximus was kept close to Saevus, and even in the dark Krem could see the glitter of Saevus' eyes as he watched the man sleep. There was some sort of history between the two that Krem couldn't quite get a handle on.

Dorian shifted in his sleep, thrashing as he whimpered. Krem wrapped an arm around his waist, whispering quiet things to calm him back down. Dorian didn't sleep well alone, they had quickly learned. He missed Bull's warmth at night.

Dorian turned around, curling into him, and Krem tucked Dorian's head under his chin, eyes in slits as he watch Saevus watching him. They would have to be careful with that one. 

Morning came slowly, and with it, excavation and delving into the untouched depths of the ruins.

Maximus held Dorian and Krem's leashes as they walked through dusty, empty halls strewn with sand from storms, and the others of the team split off into small groups. Saevus walked with Terus and muttered with him about various rooms. Sitting rooms, libraries, solars, they were all richly appointed and in shockingly good condition. They delved into the servants quarters and were delighted to find a kitchen that was incredibly gorgeous and still perfectly capable of use, knives with anti-rust glyphs still functional and sharp nearly 1000 years after the place had been frozen. Rooms on the second floor were quickly picked, and Saevus shunted Dorian, Krem, and Maximus into a small room that probably had once belonged to a bodyguard next to his own. 

Further exploration found a massive laundry room, a door out to the old stables and a way to get to them from the main hall, and at the bottom of beautifully carved stairs, a cheer went up when huge doors displaying a hunting scene were found. Usually that sort of scene meant either money or something just as valuable. The whole group pushed them open, and a louder cheer went up at what was found inside.

In a massive room that was quickly lit by ancient braziers, five deep bowls with a ring of seating inside them became visible. A bathhouse, appropriately sized for the massive house and in good repair, was enough to lift anyone's spirits. Dorian helped with a bit of creative ice magic to prime the pump for the smallest of the bowls, and after some gurgling and inventive cursing, another ragged cheer went up as silty, muddy water began to pour from the massive stone dragon mouth that filled the bath.

“It will take some time to clear everything,” Saevus said, patting the spout, “but it looks like we bathe tonight!”

Another cheer went up, and the rest of the spigots were primed and began to fill. The spellbinder, Gowar, decided to stay and keep an eye on the spouts while the rest of the crew went to go and fetch the well preserved linens and get started in the laundry room.

By the time everyone was done for the evening, the sheets were dried and mattresses beaten out, and everyone made their way to rooms.

Maximus groaned in relief as they reached their room, Dorian fell directly onto the bed he was going to share with Krem, and Krem slumped against the door. 

“Maker be praised,” Maximus muttered, and began dragging off his shirt. Krem stared blankly at him, exhaustion making him foggy, and then he jerked in shock. Maximus wore a dark, tight vest under his shirt, near identical to Krem's own.

“You're like me,” he blurted out, shocked, and Maximus jumped.

“What? Oh.” He smiled brightly, dropping his shirt. “Yes, didn't you notice?”

“No,” Krem said blankly. “So that's how you're married.”

Maximus smiled, smoothing his hands down the vest. “I realized who I am after I married Cortarus. He was surprised when I told him, but... He was very happy that I was happy, and has always supported me, even though my parents offered to return my bride price to him.” His smile grew a little sad, and Krem's heart twisted. “It was an arranged marriage, and he would have been in his rights to annul it, but he's always made it clear that he loves me. Even with my family.”

Dorian rolled over, waving at Krem so he could translate.

“How do you know Maevaris Tilani?” Krem asked for him, and the smile immediately vanished.

“That's a long story,” Maximus said, twisting his hands. “Cortarus is... a cousin, I suppose is the best term. They knew each other well enough, and he can still get news back to her.” He took a deep breath, turning to Dorian. “My name used to be Maxilla Abrexis, and it is my fault that you were enslaved.”

Dorian froze, and Krem's eyes widened.

“Please forgive me,” Maximus said, his voice starting to shake. “I was the one that told _him_ where you were. I was thirteen, I didn't realize what it meant. I didn't think you had to hide. You... when you were at my home, you were always so vibrant and happy. We all loved you, I need you to know that. Rilienus would have married you if he could. I'm so sorry, I didn't...”

Dorian slid off the bed, walking over and pulling Maximus into a tight hug. Maximus let out a little noise of surprise and cautiously reached up, hugging him back. Krem's heart ached as Maximus buried his face in Dorian's shoulder, his own shoulders starting to shake as he fought tears.

“We thought you were dead for so long,” he said, his voice muffled in Dorian's shirt. “I thought I'd killed you. I thought he'd murdered you. I used to have nightmares where he-he chopped you up and buried you under the peach trees. Rilienus wouldn't go to the peach trees for years except for your birthday. We thought-” His voice cracked and Dorian held him tighter, kissing the side of his head as Maximus broke, great heaving sobs catching in his throat.

Krem quietly sat on the bed, and waited until they both pulled away, wiping their eyes. Dorian gave Maximus a watery smile, and Maximus did his best to return it.

“So,” Krem said quietly. “You're trying to get us out.”

“And myself out, as well,” Maximus said. “I don't want to be here any more than you do. I don't- why I'm here is complicated, but I want out. Cortarus is only with the Venatori because it allows him to be close to me. We've been trying to escape for a while and now...”

“And now you have extra incentive,” Krem finished for him. “And a place to go when you escape.”

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Krem said, grinning at him, “we won't escape today. But we'll wait, and we'll be ready when the time comes.”

oOo

The days were long and brutal, and Dorian often found himself both miserable and grateful for the distraction of the forever moving sand in the upper atrium. Terus had decided that they would work on repairing the place as best they could while there, and so bucket after bucket of sand was emptied out of the building, dumped out of the outer walls. They built a sturdy staircase up to the top of the inner courtyard, and dumped it out from there. The large blocks were another problem, but one of the men happened to be the son of a mason, and they all began learning the fine art of repairing buildings. So long as Saevus was there, he was allowed to help levitate things up and out of the roof, or tightening the sand into squares and charging them with fire so hot they became blocks of glass. It was unending work, but in a way wholesome. As most of them did the busy work of moving sand, others investigated the machines within the Hall of Silence and searched for records of what magic was done in the crumbling libraries.

At least Krem's situation hadn't been an issue, where it normally was in Tevinter. Three of the men had similar bodies, and so they bathed together with Max and Krem at the end of the day, presumably to grouch about the rest of them. Dorian was surprised to learn Terus personally hired them. They were incredibly loyal to him.

Dorian, on the other hand, bathed with Terus. It was not pleasant, but the man never let his eyes linger, or made any move to touch him. Dorian was pathetically grateful for that, even when he was feeling the deepest loathing for the man. He couldn't say that after the near year of surviving without someone forcing themself on him that his mind would have survived the nightmare.

The days and weeks blurred together, but Krem kept a rough count of their days captured with scratch marks on the bed post. They were approaching four weeks when Dorian was called to Terus' office.

It had been cleaned out, mostly, the door unblocked and opening out into a beautiful sitting room untouched by time. Terus slept there, on a chaise lounge so plush that Dorian half salivated just looking at it. 

“Ah, Dorian,” Terus said as he stopped in front of the desk. “I've decided it's time to start your training back up.”

A choke chain, shining silver, sat on the desk, next to a pile of books and the hated muzzle. 

“These you will balance on your head to improve your posture while kneeling,” Terus continued, waving his hand at the books. “The muzzle will be part of your punishment if you decide to act out. And this you will wear as a precaution against failure.”

Dorian stared at the silver chain. Even his second master, who his mind skittered away from like a scared horse, had never used such a brutal teaching method.

 _No,_ his mind said traitorously, _he preferred to force you to fail and make you grovel for forgiveness._

“Kneel,” Terus said, pointing to his side, and hating ever moment, Dorian did.

The books were balanced on his head, and the day began.

oOo

The muzzle sat heavy on his face four days later.

It was a cruel thing. Hard leather was unpleasant on the best of days, and in the heat of the Western Approach it was brutal. He knelt by Terus' legs, the choke chain tighter around his neck as a punishment for letting the books fall earlier, and thought longingly of every fire spell he knew. At least the choke chain wasn't barbed, or too tight to breathe. Terus was careful to keep him alive and mostly well.

The only thing that kept him from using the fire spells was the knowledge that despite what Terus said, there was no way he wouldn't punish Krem if Dorian misbehaved.

Maximus was quietly writing in the corner as Terus sat back in his chair, stroking through Dorian's hair like he were some sort of lapdog. It was a quiet day, with the familiar, unending sounds of construction going on outside the doors to the little office Terus had made for himself. The light streaming through the hole in the ceiling seemed particularly oppressive, like some ancient god glaring down after deciding their followers had been particularly deserving of being roasted.

Saevus slammed the door open, stalking down the stairs with a hawk sitting on his gloved arm. “Message from Erimond,” he growled, and the hawk screeched in annoyance. Terus' fingers tightened harshly, and Dorian winced. 

“What does he want _now_?” Terus demanded, removing his hand to take the scroll that Saevus offered. 

“To visit, it seems.”

Terus snorted, opening the scroll and scanning over it. “As entitled as ever, it seems,” he muttered vindictively. “Any ideas?”

“We quietly murder him and leave him for the sands to take?”

Terus sighed, closing the scroll and letting his hand fall back to Dorian's head. “Tempting, but I don't wish to risk His Lordship's wrath.” He sighed, absently stroking Dorian's hair, and Dorian was gratified to see the faint flicker of disgust on Saevus' face. At least this time he was a pet to Terus, not a piece of furniture like he'd been forced into a few other times, and he'd been spared the humiliation of being stripped.

“Cortarus will be arriving soon,” Saevus said instead. Max jerked in the corner, eyes flicking up. “His report said that there's been increased Inquisition activity in the area. Should we see about moving to another place? Chateau du Onterre in the Graves is said to be heavily haunted, no one would look for us there.”

“If we move, we will be moving with the troops,” Terus said, and Dorian could have cried for joy as he took his hand back to hold open the scroll again. “What do we know about Adamant?”

“Built in the Third Age, it's withstood two Blights and the sands. Visually, it's the sister to Griffon Wing keep, which was built around the same time as an outpost. We have the layout in the file room.” Saevus shook out his shoulders, frowning. “After Adamant, where will we go?”

“North,” Terus said. “Nevarra. Justinian wants us on hand for whatever he intends to do to their king. But we will see.” He frowned, distracted by the scroll. “I'm going to request that we move back into the Graves after all. It is a solidly central location, and we'd be more effective there after all. Good thought, Saevus.”

Saevus nodded, and hesitated. “Ser.”

Terus glanced up at him, face growing a little hard. “What is it?”

“About Ariada-”

Terus waved his hand sharply, cutting him off. “We've talked about this, Saevus,” he snapped, and Dorian flinched at the harshness of his voice. “Until her service is up you will not be seeing her.”

Saevus clenched his jaw. “Please, might I just-”

“Your wife's debt is her own,” Terus said coldly. “Now. You have plenty of other things to do, so get out of my office.”

Saevus wavered, the hawk on his arm shuffling and looking between the two. His fist was clenched hard enough that the knuckles were white. “Yes, ser,” he said at last, through clenched teeth, and walked stiffly back up the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

Terus sighed, the picture of long suffering, and looked over at Max. “Will you behave if I let you see him?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Then you may.”

Dorian rose as gracefully as he could when Terus jerked on his chain, and Terus sighed. “You're free for the day. Go and help them continue to clean, if you would.”

Dorian nodded, and as he stood he felt an agonizing _snap_ that ricocheted through his body, followed by a feeling of complete relief. As he stood there, he felt the soft whisper of leather dropping from his throat.

There was a faint clink, and in total silence the room looked to the floor.

Dorian's collar lay on the floor, broken, nothing more than a strip of leather and metal. He slumped to his knees, reaching out a trembling hand to pick it up. His hand went to his throat, feeling the scarred skin where where had been leather for nearly eight years. Staring blankly, he curled in on himself, holding it tight to his chest. The metal of the choke chain loosened and was pulled off, the muzzle falling as the straps were released. Something was making terrified, agonizing sounds, and he realized it was him.

Someone was speaking to him, but the words just wouldn't come through. He clung to the collar as the panic began to hit him, tears starting to roll down his cheeks and drop to the floor.

Finally, the collar was off, just in time for someone to put a new one on him.

“No,” he heard himself whine, high and cracking from lack of use, “no, no, no, please, no, I'm sorry, please.”

More words he couldn't understand, and he clutched the collar tighter. There was a patter of feet, and Dorian let out a low wail as Krem knelt in front of him and forced him to look up.

Krem. Krem fixed everything. He pressed the collar with shaking hands into Krem's chest, making a helpless noise. Krem took it from him gently, looking it over.

“Make it stop,” Dorian begged. “It's wrong, it- it's not supposed-” His voice broke again and he fell forward. Krem let his head rest on his shoulder, gently rocking him back and forth as Dorian began to sob, terror making everything entirely too much.

“It's going to be alright,” Krem murmured, cupping the back of his neck. “I've got you, it's going to be alright.”

oOo

Dorian was collared once again about three hours later, after being so heavily dosed with Last Resort that the only thing he could do was sway on his knees and make soft, confused sounds as the leather strip was tightened around his throat. Krem was recollared as well, his branded with a plain V to match Dorian's. The old collar had been taken by Terus. Dorian had put up quite the fight trying to get it back, frantically trying to keep a grip on it and lashing out when Terus wouldn't give it back. He'd fought being collared again as well until the Last Resort kicked in, not that anyone could blame him, and as the buckle was soldered together so it wouldn't come off Krem held him.

Saevus did the soldering, his face tight as he worked, and when he was finished he turned without a word. Dorian was crying silently, his tears leaking into Krem's shirt.

Terus reached out, and Krem resisted a shudder as he stroked Dorian's hair like he was little more than a prize pet.

“Do keep an eye on him,” Terus said, petting the hair down. It had grown ragged, almost as bad as Krem's, and his mustache was more or less a lost cause that would soon have to be shaved off. “So many slaves try and kill themselves after just a taste of freedom, and that's hardly what we want, is it? I'm going to go to all the trouble of sending this lovely piece of work back to your Inquisitor to get Servis back in exchange, I'd rather not see him dead before I can properly make it.”

“No, ser,” Krem said quietly, and Max emerged from the shadows to help him lift Dorian's arm over his shoulders and carry him away to their room.

It was late in the evening when the drug finally wore off. Krem jerked awake as Dorian made a quiet, pained noise, shushing him as he burrowed in closer to Krem's side. 

“Welcome back,” he said quietly.

Dorian's hand went to his throat, feeling the leather there, and Krem sighed.

“Yeah, they put a new one on. No magic, it's just a symbol.”

Dorian cleared his throat as Max woke up, lighting a candle by the bed. “My voice is back.”

“Your voice, your writing, your magic,” Krem said smiling. “You're free in all but name now.”

Dorian ran his fingers over the leather. “I'll take this off soon, too,” he said quietly. His voice kept cracking from disuse. “I... my collar. Did they destroy it?”

“No. Terus is sending it to Skyhold as proof they have you, to try and trade you for Servis,” Max said. “He's not going to just let you go, though. He's done it before, where he'll make plans for a trade then kill those who decide to come and try to meet with him, then take back the hostage.”

“Such a kind man,” Dorian said dryly, huffing. He reached up, scratching at the start of a beard that was growing. None of their captors trusted him with a razor. Krem had no such issues aside from his shaggy but still respectable hair, something he'd been smug about more than once. Dorian gratefully took the waterskin that Max offered him, drinking deeply. “Ah, thank you.” 

“Are you alright?” Krem asked quietly, helping him to sit up against the back of the bed. Dorian managed a wan smile.

“Not in the least. This,” he flicked the collar at his throat, “much as I hate to admit it, is helping. I've not been a slave nearly so long as some, but feeling my neck bare... It was difficult.”

Krem nodded, ruffling his hair. “You're free for good now,” he said with a grin. “And when we get out, we'll celebrate.”

“With casks?”

“And axes.”

Dorian hid his smile, and as they settled back down to sleep he felt the beginnings of hope again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can all thank dichotomous_dragon for this chapter finally getting done! She commissioned work on it when this chapter was half finished, so I kicked myself in gear and got this part done.


	27. Blood on the Sands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Very violent death, discussion of emotional abuse.

  
**“Rise, my sisters and brothers!**  
**The dawn rises,**  
**a new day is begun-**  
**We will seize it by the throat**  
**for we are the children of dragons,**  
**mightier than we will ever know.**  
**\- Unknown, song of the slave rebellions. Dated to the Ancient Age.**  


oOo

Erimond arrived the next day.

Dorian had met Livius Erimond once before, and never in private. He was an oily man, one of those who thought that a beard made him look distinguished but never put any effort into its maintenance. He hadn't been impressed then, and he certainly wasn't impressed now, as Livius stalked into the room with what had to be Cortarus trailing behind him. Max stood stiff as a statue, eyes trained on his husband as Dorian poured wine for Terus and Livius. Saevus stood in a corner with Krem, his face perfectly blank.

Dorian stepped back as they made small talk, just far enough back to not look like he was hovering. He'd never been used for wine service before, regardless of which master he'd had, but he knew how it was done. That Terus had made him do it instead of Maximus, whose very job it was, was somewhat insulting.

He let himself drift during their discussion to save himself from panicking, knowing that Max was memorizing everything they said. Terus waved him back forward, and he stepped up with the wine again. Livius sneered at him.

“When news gets back to Minrathous that you've collared him, you'd best be prepared for war,” he drawled, and Terus snorted. Dorian poured the wine, feeling beads of sweat start on his neck. 

They were in the room that looked out into the Hall of Silence, the rubble cleared away and the rug freshly cleaned. A table had been made from some of the rough beams that had been meant for shoring up the roof, despite there being excellent furniture in good repair within the building itself. Everyone had wordlessly decided that they weren't going to bring out the good tea set or wine glasses for Livius.

Livius drank again, leering at Dorian. “Halward is very invested in seeing his son back safely,” he said, his voice sickly sweet. “He'll pay handsomely for any information that leads him to his little cinaede. I don't blame him, look at that pretty face.”

Dorian's hands jerked, and Terus waved him back to his position. 

“Dorian is not going to be returning to that life,” he said calmly, lifting his glass. “He's a slave, and even if Magister Pavus tries to take him back, the best he'll ever be is Liberati. And Liberati cannot inherit. I plan to take him back to my estate when we return. He'll be of more use there. And with such a beautiful bloodline, how could I not keep him?”

Livius looked at him with open disgust. “Your practices are abhorrent,” he said flatly. “At least I don't pretend to be anything what I am.”

“Says the blood mage,” Terus said mildly. “All I try to do is breed for a better tomorrow.”

“This may shock you,” Livius said, his voice growing colder, “but slaves are still people. Expendable people, but people.”

“To you, perhaps,” Terus said with a one shouldered shrug. Dorian couldn't breathe, and across the room Saevus was trembling, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “I see them as tools for furthering the Imperium, nothing more. I hardly consider a hammer to be a member of my household.”

Dorian was going to be sick. The new collar on his neck felt like it was constricting, tightening down to strangle him and force him into submission. Surely it wasn't true. Surely he wouldn't be forced into the life he'd fled. The implications were hard to ignore.

They had to escape before they left the Western Approach. Griffin Wing Keep was close enough that they might be able to make it to sanctuary.

“You disgust me,” Livius said quietly, his voice full of pure venom. “And I'm sure the feeling is mutual, but I am in control of this mission, not some Laetan upstart with a patchy military career. I might like torture, but at least I don't bring babes into it. And since I don't want this to become a duel today, let me give your orders and get out of your hovel.”

oOo

Saevus found him hiding in one of the upper rooms in the atrium.

For a moment, Dorian thought that he was going to get hit, Saevus glaring down at where he'd huddled into a corner, but Saevus just crossed his arms and waited.

“Is it true?” Dorian asked after a moment. “He does that, to his slaves? Breeds them?”

“Yes,” Saevus said flatly.

Dorian looked at the ground, feeling the panic constrict his throat. “He doesn't even see me a person, does he?”

“No.”

Somehow, it was almost reassuring to hear. Dorian picked at the legs of his pants, uncertain about what to do or what to say. 

“We won't bring you two back to Tevinter.”

Dorian looked up, startled. “What?”

“Let me be clear,” Saevus said with obvious distaste. “I've never liked you. I barely like your little friend. But we're in the middle of a war, and I'm not going to let Terus go dragging around two _pets_ that he thinks happen to be interesting. You aren't useful, and every second he spends distracted on you is a second that I could be wearing him down to release my wife, so forgive me if I'm a little uninterested in your personal struggles.”

“Why does he have your wife?”

Saevus' mouth twisted into the parody of a smile. “How long has it been since you were home?”

“Six years.” Dorian shifted as Saevus sat down next to him, both alarmed and uncertain of his motives. Saevus pulled his knees up, resting his forearms on them so his hands could dangle, the wedding band on his finger gleaming. 

“Five years ago a law was passed that allowed the banks and creditors to sell off loans to individual buyers,” Saevus said, in the tones of someone who'd told this story too many times and always found it painful. “In theory, it was meant to take some of the pressure of collection off of the banks, but that's not how it turned out. People bought debt, and then suggested indentured servitude as a way to pay it off faster. For some with huge amounts and poor jobs, this seemed far safer.” He sighed, tugging at his frazzled hair. “Terus purchased a number of debts, mine, my wife's, and Maximus' included. He specifically targeted people with a great deal to lose if they didn't comply with him, and essentially held them hostage to ensure cooperation. Your little Maximus owes a lot to the moneylenders to change his name. It's a pretty common practice now- enslave your enemies with debt. The magisters are getting very fond of it.”

Dorian stared in horror. “That's _insane_.”

“That's the Imperium. And that's why Terus has my wife. I haven't seen her in over a year. He keeps her in his summer home, under guard. She works as a washerwoman, despite the fact that she's Alti and had never even touched laundry before he bought the debt. All I want to do is transfer her debt to me so I'm the one handling it all and she'll be free. My debts almost gone, and I would be more than willing to take hers.” Saevus' mouth curled into a snarl for a moment before he forced his expression neutral again. “All we wanted was a child, and the debts for healers for us both grew and grew and grew with nothing to show for them. And now, here we are.”

Dorian stared at the tiles, taking this all in. “So, you never intended to be here.”

“Oh, I believe in the cause, Pavus,” Saevus said harshly. “I believe in Corypheus, but I would have worked from inside the Imperium. I'm a better assassin than front line fighter.” He rose to his feet, and after an impatient gesture from him Dorian rose as well. “You were such an ass at the Circle. But for what it's worth, I think it's disgusting, how he treats you. You've always been a better class of bastard than him.”

“Thank you. I think.”

Saevus snorted, turning to walk away, and Dorian hesitated before saying, “Saevus.”

“Try again,” Saevus said flatly.

“Saevus, ser,” Dorian said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Your wife. If I get the chance, I'll get her out.”

Saevus stopped, turning around to face him. “What?” His eyes were hard, intensely focused.

Dorian brushed his shirt down before returning the stare. “I've spent seven years as a slave to men like Terus. I can survive him- she might not.”

Saevus' fists clenched tight, the knuckles going white. “You know nothing about my wife.”

“You're right, I don't. But I know what slavery does to the soul, and believe me, I know all about the cruelty of men who own others.” Dorian stepped forward, getting directly in Saevus face. “You would not wish to imagine the things I have seen these past seven years, the levels of depravity I've been forced to sink to while I shared beds with men who believed me little more than a dog. I would not wish that hell on my worst enemy, let alone a woman whose only fault was wanting a child. And if you think Terus will not sink to sleeping with her to get to you, you are dead wrong.”

“Mind your tongue,” Saevus hissed, his eyes blazing with rage.

“I will mind my tongue when you face facts,” Dorian snapped, keeping his voice low. “But I will remind you, Saevus Reminond, that debt of slaves vanishes upon the death of the holder of that debt.”

Saevus froze, and Dorian reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. 

“A simple reminder, nothing more,” he said, and stepped away, heading down the stairs to look for Krem.

oOo

Erimond's orders were simple. The team were to begin preparations for moving as soon as Adamant's Grey Wardens were fully under the control of Corypheus. Apparently the Inquisition had every intention of laying siege to the place, and siege engines were already on the approach. Hawks flew in and out constantly, Saevus and Terus both working constantly on reports as the others prepared for another long trip. Dorian, unlike the others, was being quizzed in deportment and servitude. Despite Saevus' strong words otherwise, Terus still seemed to think that he was taking them back to Tevinter.

While Krem was given a pass due to being, in Terus' words, “A perfectly reasonable man, what with the Soporati being perfectly well trained,” Dorian was being taught all over again how to keep his head politely lowered, the perfect posture of a kneeling slave, and all sorts of obnoxious things with how he held his hands that Terus seemed utterly obsessed with. The repetition and correction were starting to get to him, and he found himself moving with more of the little actions in place. It made him sick. Terus constantly adjusted his hands, berating him for not being graceful enough or carrying himself right, and Dorian hated every moment that he caught the training starting to stick.

He was in the middle of one of these training sessions when the door to the hallway office slammed open and Cortarus strode down the steps, his long hair coated in sand and his clothes disheveled.

“Adamant is fallen,” he said flatly. “It will not hold long, and the Inquisitor is stronger than expected. We need to evacuate the area _immediately_.”

Saevus swore, very creatively, and began gathering papers as quickly as possible. Terus stood, glaring at Cortarus.

“And I'm certain you wish to escort your husband out of the area?”

“I've orders to escort whoever I can, but I expect I will take him and the slaves, since you have your team and they're not as capable,” Cortarus said. Terus ground his teeth, and with a burst of insight, Dorian understood why the two disliked each other so much, and why the name had been bothering him for so long.

Cortarus Undarian, second son of Lord Heshefal Undarian of Neomeria, was an Altus of a bloodline possibly older than Dorian's own. Despite being the spare son, he would have known wealth in a way that even Dorian's family would have been taken aback by, and as such knew full well that he was better than Abraxus Terus in every way. Cortarus would have been untouchable, but if he'd married into the Abrexis house, he'd clearly been disowned. All the same, he was nigh on untouchable, bred and trained by a line of incredibly vicious magisters that could claim four Archons in their line. For Terus, a lowborn Laetan military man, Cortarus represented everything that he couldn't escape. 

“Fine,” Terus snapped. “Saevus, you're with Dorian, Cremisius, and Maximus. Are we moving directly to Nevarra?”

“No, to the Emerald Graves first. The haunted Chateaux.”

“Very well. Saevus, muzzle Dorian and Krem.”

oOo

The horses were fetched and saddled, papers taken, everything moved and cleaned at record speed. Krem and Dorian were leashed, muzzled, and their hands bound, and Max grabbed their ropes as soon as they swung into the saddles. Cortarus was on his own horse, a dappled grey gelding with obviously exquisite breeding, and Saevus climbed onto his bulky dun stallion.

“We'll take the first exit out,” Cortarus said, Terus snapping orders behind them. “The others will follow when they can.” He wheeled the gelding around and the great doors of the Still Ruins creaked open, letting them through for the first time in nearly two months. Dorian glanced behind him as they went, watching sunlight pour down into the atrium. For all its darkness, it was a beautiful place.

The doors closed behind him, and the five of them left the safety of the little oasis, the horses doing their best on the soft sand. Saevus had taken the rear guard, Cortarus and Max to the front, and Dorian quietly sent a quick jolt of fire through his bonds, severing them. The time was upon them, and they were going to have to ride for their lives. Cortarus and Maximus exchanged glances, Krem nodded minutely, and in perfect coordination they pushed the horses into a gallop. The ropes fell from Dorian's hands, and a quick flame destroyed his and Krem's leashes. Another quick flame broke Krem's bonds, and they grabbed the reins as a bolt of lightning slammed down beside them, the horses putting on an extra burst of speed in fear.

Max had educated them extensively on the potential extra members of their escape. Their best case scenario had included some of the gladiators. Their worst had been either Saevus, even before Terus.

_“What's his specialization?” Krem asked as they lay in bed, idly planning. Dorian was already snoozing, just barely listening._

_“He doesn't have one,” Max said, shrugging as he fussed with the thin blanket. “Terus is simple. He likes lightning and he's a Knight Enchanter. But Saevus? He knows everything, and I mean everything. I've seen him use necromancy and a Knight Enchanter's sword in the same fight. He's not good at it, but he can dual wield. He's got enough healing to keep him going, he can use ice and fire equally, but he really shines with lightning. He likes the Primal school. Expect him to use lightning in a tight spot, though. It's not his specialization but he likes it best.”_

_“How do we defend against it?”_

_“You run really, really fast.”_

Saevus was a clever, brutal bastard. Dorian held on for dear life as they careened down a narrow canyon full of spiders, lightning in the back making his hair stand on end. Forcing himself to concentrate, he reached out and threw barriers over himself and Krem, just in time for a bolt to strike down hard against Krem right where his heart was and glance off. Cortarus rode with a natural grace, a true horseman, and Dorian threw another barrier set over him and Max 

And then they heard the sound of even more hoofbeats.

Dorian chanced a glance behind, and watched in horror as Terus coming down after Saevus, his massive bay gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“We have company!” He yelled up to Cortarus, who swore inventively, swerving as they crossed a sandy bridge. Cortarus reached into a pouch at his hip, and with a movement so smooth Dorian would have sworn it was impossible, lobbed two pitch grenades over his shoulders. There was a scream of horses as the bombs exploded, taking out the first line of horses.

They veered away, and Dorian swore as they headed towards a mage tower jutting out of the rock abyss. He scanned the ground as they went, noting a few bronto bodies and a few varghests, two skeletons, and as they crossed the bridge with a clatter of hooves he saw the remains of an entire camp of people. He reined the horse to a halt, dismounting and running over. 

“Fire staff, fire staff, please,” he muttered as he rummaged through the decaying bodies, and held up a lightning staff with a rusty, but serviceable blade attached. “Damn. Better this than nothing.”

Krem had noticed him and did the same, picking up a shield and hefty mace. Cortarus tossed his daggers to Max, who twirled them with the ease of long practice, and pulled his bow off.

“They can't rush us at once here,” Krem said as Cortarus sent his horse off to the side with Max's. Dorian's and Krem's seemed much more interested in the hay bales on the other side of the bridge, trotting away back across. “Dorian-”

“I'll even the odds,” he said with a nod, and went up to the tower.

The Veil hummed and curled around him, the Fade just beginning to break through. He closed his eyes, resting the head of the staff against the ground, and reached deeper than he had in six years. Opening himself to the Fade, he let it pour into him, feeding his necromancy. Like a peach resting too long in the sun, his magic was overripe and ready to burst. Necromancy was a tool, and one that was eager to be used. He had untapped reserves so deep that he knew, without a doubt, he could have raised a dragon.

Wisps coursed down his arms, gleefully running to the bodies of the bandits that were in the camp. Brontos rose from their permanent slumber, huge bodies lumbering about. The varghests he'd noted, two quillbacks, and one very curious nug that was definitely alive swarmed to him, and he opened his eyes. The tower crackled with his power, and he ignored the pale, terrified cast to Krem's face. 

“He's coming,” he said, flicking the staff right side up and getting a better grip on it. Saevus, on foot, charged the first line. He killed one of the varghests and both quillbacks before dodging through the brontos and swords to the base of the tower. Dorian held off on killing him as Cortarus drew his bow back.

“Wait,” he said quietly, and raised his voice. “You seem determined to retrieve us for someone who intended to let us go, Saevus.”

Saevus approached warily, his barrier glowing a sickly purple and green. His magic curled around him, uncomfortable and sick. There was no direction to it, and so it clashed and mixed in the worst of ways. “Surely you didn't actually believe that. You're worth a fortune alive or dead.” He reached the top of the stairs. In the distance, Dorian could see Terus approaching, the others much farther behind.

“I'm certainly worth more alive,” Dorian said dryly, tightening his grip and sending the brontos to the front of the bridge. He would let Terus pass, and then let the brontos attack the first line of the team. He wanted to take down Terus personally. 

Saevus sneered, climbing up the steps. “Is that what you think? Your precious father's declared anyone who can find you will get named his heir. I wouldn't cry having Asariel under my thumb.”

Krem adjusted his grip on his shield, eyes narrowing as Saevus reached the top step, waiting in the archway. His staff spat lightning, the smell of ozone even stronger than the decay of Dorian's dead army. Max shifted into a better stance, hands tight on the knives.

“So you think, what. You'll drag me back to Halward Pavus,” Dorian said, noting as Terus grew closer. “You'll let him hug his only son, thought dead for these past seven, nearly eight, years. And then when he asks me how I survive, how you came to find me, how do you think he's going to take it when I tell him you captured me? How you let your master use me as a pet, the way that he made me kneel, how he muzzled me like a dog, how you so _bravely_ recaptured me when I fled? Tell me, how do you think Halward Pavus, Lord of Asariel, Magister, professional diplomat and Knight Enchanter, is going to take that news?”

Saevus had gone still, his face paling.

Terus had reached the bridge. Dorian let him past, and pushed the brontos to block the way.

“Or,” he said brightly, “you might consider that conversation we had the other day.”

The dead parted for Terus to run up the stairs as Saevus lowered his staff. Dorian held his burning gaze, even as Terus pushed him aside. 

“How _dare_ you?” Terus snarled, his face tight with rage. Max began to shake, inching a little back. Krem got a little more in front of Cortarus, eyes flicking back and forth between Dorian and Terus.

“What is it, Abraxus?” Dorian said mildly. “Have I surprised you?”

“You _ran_ ,” Terus hissed, looking personally betrayed. “How dare you, when you are mine. That's my collar on your neck, you are defying direct orders. You're a slave, nothing more, and you're showing me contempt.”

Dorian raised one eyebrow with every ounce of former Alti disdain he could dredge up. The brontos smashed the first line, and he sent the varghest forward to help them. “Did you think that's what I was? That I was somehow not human because I wore a collar? Did you think that you somehow broke me, when seven years of being fucked til I bled by men with more cruelty in their little toe than you'll ever know didn't manage it? Let me tell you something, Abraxus Terus. You never would have broken me. Frankly speaking, I've been bred to be your superior in every way.”

He hid his smile as Terus raised his staff, shaking with rage. He'd hit a nerve, it seemed. Lightning gathered on his staff, the true lightning of a Primal specialist, and Dorian braced himself to manage both of them as Cortarus loosed the first arrow.

In the end, it was unnecessary.

With a squelch and crunch of bone, the wicked blade of Saevus' staff burst out of Terus' stomach. Max gasped, and Terus looked down, confused.

The staff clattered out of his hands as he reached down, pressing to the metal sticking out of him. 

“Nothing personal,” Saevus said as Terus fell to his knees, blood dripping from his lips. The head of Saevus' staff clattered to the ground, and Terus slumped against the wall with it, struggling to look up at him. He squatted down, grabbing Terus' jaw to stare him in the eyes. “Ariada Nusiannon Reminond. My _wife_. Do you hear me? I did this for her. What was it you said to me when you ripped her out of my arms?” Terus reached up with shaking, bloody hands, and Saevus batted them away. “Time will fly. Yours will be up before you know it.”

Terus let out a breathy noise of agony, and Saevus leaned in closer.

“Time's. Up.”

Terus screamed as Saevus channeled lightning through his hand, pushing it deep into him, and Dorian threw up another barrier just to protect them as Saevus took his revenge. The world was nothing but light and the smell of cooked meat.

At last it was done, and Saevus fell back gasping, his hands steaming but undamaged. There was nothing left of his staff but a twisted heap of metal, and what had once been Abraxus Terus was little more than a blackened mass. Max whispered a prayer as Cortarus retched in the corner. Krem swore, looking to Dorian, who was reaching the end of his abilities to hold onto the little army. 

“Dorian-”

“The bridge,” he gasped out, and Krem nodded, heading down as the sound of fighting finally reached them. Dorian leaned heavily on his staff as Max followed Krem to the bridge. There were only four left, and Krem paused on the bridge, yelling of Terus' death, and two threw down their weapons. The other two were dealt with quickly. Dorian released the bodies as soon as he felt them die, collapsing in a heap. Saevus was breathing heavily, staring at the ruin of Terus' body.

“I killed him,” he said raggedly.

“Understatement,” Dorian groaned, throwing an arm over his face.

“Now what?”

“Now you get the hell out of here before I stop feeling charitable and slit your throat.”

Saevus' laugh turned into a gurgle, and Dorian removed his arm to see blood bubble up from Saevus lips, his body jerking as the price for the magic he'd just done hit him. He struggled to his knees, but by the time Dorian had reached the other man he was dead, eyes staring sightless at the sky, a wild smile on his face.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and Cortarus went to him, the pair of them staring down at Saevus.

“For what it's worth,” Cortarus said, “I never liked him.”

Dorian's laugh was a little more hysterical than usual.

oOo

Contents of a dead mans pockets- One letter to Ariada Reminond. One dried flower. One small painting, of Ariada Reminond. One wedding band, gold with a house crest. One packet of information on Venatori spy movements throughout Thedas.

oOo

By the time Cortarus helped him down from the tower, the other two members of the team had taken off.

“One was a slave, and the other was Gowar,” Krem said, nodding at the pair, who were trudging out into the distance. “They both belonged to Terus. They're running.” He gave Dorian a tired smile. “Good job there. We barely got our blades dirty. Chief's going to be impressed.”

“I'm going to fall apart in not much time,” Dorian said in exhaustion. “We need to get to Griffin Wing.”

“I'll fetch the horses,” Max said, and after quickly kissing Cortarus' cheek he ran back across the bridge. Krem hefted Dorian's arm over his shoulder, freeing Cortarus to go and grab his gelding and Max's bright eyed bay. They saddled up as best and quick as they could, and Dorian slumped against the neck of his horse as Max fashioned a lead rope and they started to make their way across the sands towards the keep. The sun was starting to set, and Dorian turned his head to watch the tower grow smaller in the distance, the sharp steel points of the sides pointing like vengeful knives towards the sky. His stomach twisted itself as he thought of the pile of bodies they had left behind. Scavengers were sure to come and get what they could, and it was his duty as a necromancer to see to the needs of the dead.

Quietly he swore that he would go back and give them proper rites.

The shadows grew as they slowly made their way towards the keep. At last the great walls were close enough to touch, and Krem slid out of his saddle and walked to the gate.

“Thank the fucking Maker,” Krem groaned, and the others dismounted, Cortarus and Max helping to keep him upright. 

The guards inside the gate stared open mouthed at them, looking at the grime and blood covering them, and Dorian gave them his closest approximation of a winning smile.

“I'm Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi of the Bull's Chargers,” Krem rattled off, swaying where he stood. “That's Dorian Pavus, one of the Inquisitor's companions and another member of the Chargers. If you don't mind, we've been a little bit kidnapped for nearly two fucking months, so would you let us in?”

“Uh,” the younger of the guards said, tightening her grip on her spear. “Who are those two, then?”

“Cortarus Undarian and Maximus Undarian,” Max said, adjusting his grip as Dorian started to sag. “We helped them escape.”

“I'm going to go get the Knight-Captain,” the older guard said, eyeing them. “We can't just let four 'Vints into Griffon Wing when we just barely kicked a bunch out.”

Krem groaned, pressing his forehead to the gate. “For fucks sake, go, then. And tell Rylen I'll tell his recruits dirty stories if he doesn't hurry that chiseled ass over here.”

The younger guard went bright pink, and squeaked as Krem grinned at her. The older guard went off at a fast trot. She inched closer to them, looking them over. “You look like you've been in quite the fight, messares. Were you the ones making all the noise over at the mage tower?”

“That was us,” Cortarus said quietly, nodding. “It was a ferocious battle.”

“Dorian did most of the heavy lifting,” Krem said, draping his hands through the gate bars to hold himself up. “Oh, and if Rylen gives you any shit for this later, you tell him that you know about the thing with the feathers. I can promise that'll get him to shut up real quick.”

The guard looked completely fascinated. “What's the thing with the feathers?”

“I'll tell you when you're older.”

Thankfully Rylen took this moment to appear, looking every inch a man who had seen entirely too much shit in one day and was approaching the end of his rope. The older guard stepped back, looking smug as Rylen dragged his helm off and rubbed his short hair. The younger guard came to something that might have been considered attention by a very lenient captain or very uncoordinated puppet, and Rylen sighed. “Anita, stop that. It's not like I'm the Inquisitor.”

“Er, yes ser.”

Rylen walked forward, squinting at the group of them. “Well, that certainly does look like the lovely face of one Cremisius Aclassi. I'm not sure about the others.”

“Dorian hasn't had a chance to shave in near two months, not my fault,” Krem muttered, gently beating his forehead against the bars.

“He burned most of it down when it got annoying,” Max said brightly. “It smelled _awful_.”

Rylen stared at the man, baffled. “What's these other two, then?”

“They helped get us out. Cortarus and Max Undarian.” Krem waved a vague hand at them. “They're useful. Max was the scribe for the ones that took us, and Cortarus has been running around doing fuck knows what for people and decided it was time to get his man out and switch sides.”

Rylen squinted at them again. “How do I know it's you and not a thrall-”

“Andraste's fucking tits, Rylen!” Krem snapped, leaning heavily on the gate as the pair of guards shifted awkwardly. “Do I have to tell them about that night in Val Royeaux with Dalish and Rocky for you to believe that it's me? The one with all the chocola-”

“Open the gates, it's them,” Rylen said hastily, going brilliantly red under the grime. Dorian groaned in relief, and they stumbled through the gate. There was a small crowd in the courtyard watching curiously, and the four of them made it just inside before Dorian finally collapsed.

Sturdy arms cooped him up, and he rested his head against the plate of Rylen's chest as they were hurried to the healers tents.

Everything went blessedly black as a worried healer leaned over him, and Dorian smiled as the darkness took him.

 _Freedom_.

oOo

He woke up in the darkness, and for a moment he panicked, thinking he was back in the Still Ruins. As his eyes adjusted his heart slowed back down, the canvas of the tent a blessed relief from the musty smell of the ancient home. Sitting up slowly, he looked around. He was alone, the tent's contents neatly packed up for the evening. His boots were beside the bed, and a new shirt lay at the bottom of the bed. He ignored it, pulling on his boots carefully and leaving the tent.

It was a cool night, and the healer was just outside, talking quietly to Rylen.

“- signs of physical abuse, at least. Hard work, certainly, but no beatings, unless they had a very good spirit healer.”

“That's a relief,” Rylen sighed, and caught sight of Dorian. “Ah, looks who's up. And shirtless.”

Dorian managed a tired grin. “I spent most of the past eight years in little more than small clothes. Shirts feel restricting now.”

“Can't sleep without chainmail myself,” Rylen said cheerfully. “I understand. Your friends are in the cells now, I'll have to take you there as well since you're up now. The Inquisitor's due in a day or so, she'll want to debrief you.”

“I understand. First though, would you please find me a razor of some kind? This beard and my hair is driving me mad.” He ran his fingers through it and shuddered at the memory of Terus, all the proprietary touching he'd done. 

“Can't give you a weapon, but I'll do it myself. I heard you had some sort of mustache?” Rylen lead him back to a lantern and by the time Dorian was situated a runner was back with Rylen's shaving kit. He leaned back, and Rylen got started with the brisk of efficiency of a man who had done this on far worse faces. 

“So, we'll keep the mustache, but you get to fix that patch you want,” Rylen said conversationally as he flicked a frankly obscene amount of hair off the razor. Dorian made a noise of pure contentment to feel the wind on his skin again. Rylen was good at what he did, and Dorian basked at the firm, straightforward way he was directed. There was no tugging at his hair, no stroking and petting, just the soft scrape of the razor and the methodical clean up of his jaw. The smell of elfroot infused shaving cream was beyond soothing, taking him back to better days in the Minrathous bath houses.

When he was finished with his jaw Rylen walked in front of him and gave him a critical look over. “I let Rosha go to town with Krem's hair. Man's a mess. Yours is almost as bad. Want me to shave it all off, start over from scratch?”

Dorian could have cried. “Please, _Maker_ , that is the best thing I've heard all day.”

The scissors were fetched, and Dorian did his best not to let his tears fall as Rylen cleaned his hair up. The black strands fell onto the sandy desert floor, and Dorian swallowed a lump in his throat as Rylen said quietly, “Krem said you might need to have it cut. Someone made you hate it, did they?”

Dorian was quiet for a minute before the words spilled out, such a relief after so much silence. “He never seemed to stop touching it. He was always... _petting_ me. Like an animal. He was going to take me back and keep me like a trophy. _Breed_ me like a prize dog.” Dorian's voice failed him.

“Shit,” Rylen breathed, and Dorian groaned in relief as the last of his hair fell away and Rylen took up the razor. He lost himself in the smooth movement of it for a while, and opened his eyes when Rylen cleared his throat and said, “The Knight-Commander in Starkhaven was like that. Not the one I was under, the one before her. He played favorites, and no one wanted to be the favorite. My roommate, the first time- he had nightmares. Couldn't stand his arms or face being touched. He snapped eventually, wouldn't talk about it. He was there one morning and gone the next. Never found out what happened to the poor bastard. Don't be like him, right? Talk to someone about this shit.”

“I will,” Dorian said, and Rylen stepped back. He felt the top of his head, pleased by the tight buzz there, not truly bald after all. Rylen handed him a little shard of mirror, and he looked at his mustache sadly. “Oh, that's unfortunate.”

“I'll get you some wax tomorrow,” Rylen said with a wry smile. “Right, well. Ready to get to your cell?”

“Lead the way, Knight-Captain.”

They were quite comfortable cells, honestly, just massive barred boxes. There were eight, and Max and Cortarus were already asleep in adjoining ones in bedrolls, holding hands through the bars. Krem was waiting outside of his, and gave Dorian a tired grin when he saw him. His head had been shaved as well, making him look much younger. “Hey there, stranger.”

Dorian managed a smile at him, and Krem pulled the door open. “Am I in with you?”

“If you think the two of you would get any sleep otherwise, I can move you,” Rylen said dryly, and flushed as Krem winked at him.

“Think we'll be okay,” Krem said, and Dorian immediately stepped inside, flopping onto the cushions. There were about five different bedrolls that had been stuffed inside the box, which was about an eight foot by eight foot square. He watched out the corner of his eye as Rylen stepped uncertainly forward, and Krem smiled, walking over to him. He drifted, smiling faintly as the two of them spoke quietly, Rylen reaching up to cup the back of Krem's neck, his face going tender. He closed his eyes when they kissed, and didn't open them again until Krem's familiar weight dropped onto the pile beside him. 

“I didn't think you were so close,” Dorian murmured, into the pillows.

“He's a good man,” Krem said, and Dorian raised his head a little. Krem looked thoughtful, the moonlight making his cheekbones stand out even more than usual.

“I don't doubt that,” he said quietly. Krem let him scoot closer, and they sank into sleep in a tangle of exhausted limbs, warm blankets over their shoulders.

At last, they were safe.


	28. Where The Heart Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a person who wishes to remain anonymous who helped fund this chapter, and to Hans Zimmer's _Will and Elizabeth_ piece from Pirates of the Caribbean, which I wrote the majority of this chapter to.

  
**“You asked me to come home-**  
**I find my home here, now.**  
**The heat of the desert calls to me in ways you do not know.**  
**Here, I find myself knowing**  
**how the great sages walked out into nothing**  
**and came back with everything.”**  
**\- Hattadrian Pecaltu, from writings found in the Still Ruins. Unknown era.**  


oOo

Adamant reeked of death and destruction, smoke billowing from the rubble. The Iron Bull stood on top of a wall and breathed deep, letting the familiar smell of battle fill his senses. His shoulders loosened some as he rotated his wrist and the bells there jingled, and he looked down at a touch to his arm.

“Better?” Herah asked. Her hair had been braided tight to her head in three thick plaits, and was gray with ash and dust. Her face was leaner than when they'd first met, and her eyes harder. The past two months had not been kind to any of them, her least of all, and he spared a moments unease for what she might become if not watched. Their recent jaunt through the Fade hadn't helped any of that, and his skin crawled with the reminder of what they'd just endured.

“As I can get with twenty fucking minutes of rest,” he rumbled, and as he reached up to scratch an itching horn the bells on his wrist jingled brightly. The sound soothed him further, and he felt the hole in his chest grow deeper as he lowered his hand and looked at his wrist. The bells were the most obvious thing, cheery brass taken from Dorian's bags and attached to his bracer as a reminder, but behind them a strip of leather with a ring for a leash had been added as well. Dorian's collar, broken, had come to them nearly a month ago by a hawk with no word of the man it had once been attached too. Someone was mocking them.

Herah, her face painted with the wyvern skull vitaar, looked out over the decimated fort and smiled. The vitaar mask on her face contorted it to something vicious. “Well, at least today we won.”

“Today,” he said quietly, clapping her on the back. “Good work.”

She nodded, and headed towards where Cullen was barking orders at his troops. Bull ran his fingers over the bells, closing his eye as he listened to the bells ring soft and sweet. The Fade swirled behind his eyelids, dead children with broken faces swarming up for him to kill again and again and ag-

“The Iron Bull,” a voice said, and he turned, surprised. Tana stood there, her mail splattered with blood and her eyes dark. Alistair had long since returned to Ferelden, but Tana remained with the Inquisition as she completed her work on the cure. 

“Queen Tana,” he said mildly, and she snorted.

“Don't start that, The Iron Bull.” She approached him, looking down on the wreckage of her fellow wardens. “How they've fallen. Do you know what they call me, in Ferelden?”

“I don't.”

“Kingmaker Tana Peacemaker.” Tana rubbed at some of the blood on her face absently. “It's a long title, but accurate. I managed peace where others would have seen war. I saw flashes of that in Herah, when she conscripted the Wardens. She will never be a peacemaker in the way I am- I am fragile in my knowings, and kind where cruelty would perhaps serve me better. She could yet still be a peacemaker of another kind, however, and so you must watch her.”

“I don't understand,” Bull said after a moment.

Tana smiled up at him, and his skin crawled with unease as he looked at her. Here he could see the iron spine of a woman who'd faced an Archdemon and lived. The tattoos curling over her forehead and cheeks were harsh and strong, a declaration of her devotion to people not originally her own. For all her beauty and kindness, she was still a ferocious warrior, and he'd seen the path of destruction she'd carved through the field. She'd cut down the Wardens who wouldn't surrender with merciful strokes, but she was a juggernaut in her own right. Given the reputation Alistair had with a blade, Bull couldn't help but be fervently glad he wouldn't ever have to face down the Warden and her King.

“It's far easier to make peace with swords than with words, and power is a heady drug.” She punched his arm hard enough that he stumbled, and grinned with sharp teeth at him. “Don't let her be swallowed up by it.”

oOo

They left Adamant at dawn, Herah wanting to get away from the reminders of the Nightmare in the Fade as fast as possible. Cole, Cassandra, and Varric traveled with them. Cole and Varric were both shaken by the events, and the main team of the Chargers came with but hung back to keep from crowding them. The others had been left to Cullen and Shokrakar's tender mercies.

They had just passed into the expanse of the Western Approach when Cole blurted out, “He doesn't hurt anymore. They wake, and everything is safe again. _No walls to hold me, no hands in my hair, no watching him kneel, safe safe safe, I can breathe without the dust in my lungs_.”

The entire company immediately pulled to a halt, and Bull's head snapped around to look at Cole so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Cole was staring off into the distance, eyes getting steadily wider.

“Dorian and Krem?” He asked, hating how hope bubbled up in him.

After Dorian and Krem had vanished, Cole had been brought to try and track them to no avail. He could feel they weren't dead, that they were scared, and that they hadn't been harmed, but beyond that there was no help for it. The only thing that they had left behind were bloodstains on some rocks by the river and one smashed bucket. Damaged grasses by the river bank told them that a fight had occurred, but beyond that there was nothing. They had feared for a moment that they'd somehow been dragged through the nearby rift, but Cole assured them they were still on the regular side of the Veil, just somewhere that was obscuring them. For almost a month they'd held out hope, but then Dorian's collar had been sent to them. Broken so early, it seemed that Dorian was dead, and only Cole's reassurance that this wasn't the case had kept Bull from dropping into a Reaver rage.

“Yes,” Cole breathed, his eyes lighting up, and Herah let out a strangled sob of relief. “ _Morning breaking on the horizon, safe here, the whistle of the banners- Andraste, Maker, I have never been so happy to see the Eye, and that great stone lion._ ”

“They're back with the Inquisition,” Herah whispered, a hand flying to her mouth. “They're- Dawn. It's dawn right now.”

“The lion- that's Griffon Wing Keep,” Varric said, breathing out a sigh of relief, and Dalish began praying in the background, Grim's voice running a rusty counterpart as he gave thanks to his own gods.

Bull was done listening. Killer lunged forward, and he let the wind blow the fear and doubt away from him once again.

They were in the Western Approach.

He would have his boys back.

OoO

Dorian woke up feeling alive.

It was a strange feeling, after so many weeks of wondering how he was going to survive when he felt like little more than death. Krem's head was tucked under his chin for once, and Dorian luxuriated in the feeling of his clean face and short hair. His head felt blessedly light, as did his heart. Krem stirred, settling himself more comfortably and cracking his eyes open. Dawn was just starting to make the horizon gold, and while Dorian would have loved to sleep further the call of seeing the sun rise for the first time in months was stronger. They watched as it slowly began to creep up, the light hitting the sands and making them glow golden.

“We made it,” Krem whispered, reaching up to touch the collar still on his throat.

Dorian looked up at the flag pole, the ink black flag with its burning eye staring accusation over the landscape. “Never again,” he murmured, and reached over, pressing his fingers to the leather of the collar. A bit of flame and a hiss from Krem as the leather heated, and it fell off. Krem pulled it away, tossing it outside of the cage, and rubbed at his throat.

“Don't know how you stayed sane wearing that for so long,” he said quietly, and Dorian looked up to the sky through the bars. 

“I didn't,” he said after a while, swallowing hard. “I don't remember some of it. I had thought I would escape after my first master died, but then I was dragged to Orlais. The second one, he was brutal. I was only with him a year, but that just about killed me. I had thought I could escape, but then he sold me deeper into Orlais. I spent three years with the next man, and the two after that with Delacourt. The second one, though. I fought him every step of the way, I was so mad with grief and fear. The third broke me in all of a month.”

Krem sat up, looking down at him. “What did he do?”

“He locked me in a tiny room and starved me til I would beg for food,” Dorian said flatly, looking away. “I try not to think about it.”

Krem squeezed his shoulder, and Dorian gave him a wry smile.

“You made it out,” Krem said quietly. “You made it out, you beat them all, and we're here, safe.”

Dorian's smile brightened, and he sat up, leaning his back against the bars. They sat together as the sun rose over the horizon, and Dorian leaned his head against Krem's shoulder.

Free.

It had never truly sunk in. In the back of his mind, he could remember that first day at the little house in Orlais, being forced to kneel as the collar burned and expecting Bull to beat him for whatever he'd failed at. Delacourt had used the collar whenever he felt like it, using key words to trigger the appropriate response, but Bull had simply learned to avoid using the word “train”, and had never taken the time to find out how to program the collar to make him respond. Despite all of that, Dorian had seen him as his owner and waited for the other shoe to drop.

Then came the Valo-kas, and the shoe disappeared entirely.

The collar had kept him marked as owned, a physical reminder that while Bull saw him as a free man he was seen by the rest of society as a thing to be pitied. He'd been stopped once or twice by well meaning people who whispered they could help him get away from the brute Qunari, and Dorian had laughed in their faces. If they had only know the torture he had gone through, they would have been throwing a wedding to keep him tethered to Bull instead. At the same time, it had been a way to keep himself safe. No one dared touch him or spit at him if they thought he was property. Chancellor Roderick had been so uneasy around him he'd refused to talk to him.

He reached up, feeling the collar that Terus had put around his neck. It was thin, more a symbol than anything, and Dorian would have been more than capable of burning it off hundreds of times. And yet he feared doing so. 

Once it was off, he was truly a free man again. Where would that leave him? 

For so long he'd been defined as nothing more than _slave_. To return to Tevinter a free man, to reclaim his place as an Altus and member of his father's house, it was almost baffling to consider. He had been sold illegally, he would never be truly Liberati, but to stand in halls cleaned by people he was once counted among the number of? It seemed impossible. His parents kept body slaves, playing favorites to take and discard as they pleased. His mother favored young, lean, fair skinned men from Ferelden, illegally stolen and legally purchased. His father's slaves tended to be older women of darker skin and heavier curves, usually from the Hundred Pillars. In another life he would have been one of Maevaris' favored serving boys, or one of the pretty young things that flitted through the Alexius household to please Livia.

To return and be part of the system that had beaten him down, draped in the finery of the Alti?

Impossible.

The blast of the alarm horn startled them both, and in the further down cages Cortarus swore violently as he and Max jolted awake. Krem stood up, clutching the bars as the keep erupted into movement. Rylen jogged up the stairs to them, fumbling the keys off of his belt.

“What happened?” Krem demanded. 

“Inquisitor's been spotted,” Rylen said. “She has the Chargers with her, I'm not about to try and hold back the Bull when he sees you.” 

_Bull_.

Krem made a strangled noise and bolted as soon as Rylen opened the cage. Dorian stepped out slowly, heart beating hard in his chest. On the flagpole the Inquisition banner was lowered, and raised again with two flags. One was the Inquisition eye with green trim and a green fist upraised underneath it, announcing that the Inquisitor was in residence. His heart was in his throat as he watched the second rise, snapping in the morning wind.

The Chargers black warhammer burned into his eyes, the blood red field behind it filling it with hope past words. He walked through the crowds running down the stairs to the flagpole, wrapping an arm around it to support himself as he watched the cloud of dust rise from where they were riding. He could see the main force of the Chargers closing in, meaning the others had reached the gate. He could hear the clamor and cheers as the portcullis raised, and stepped away from the flag pole. Somehow the stairs seemed right before him and miles away.

_Will he even recognize me?_

The thought shot through him, and he reached up automatically to fix hair that was no longer there. His mustache was a mess, he wore only the loose cotton shirt he'd been given by the strike team and his oldest leathers and boots that he'd been wearing when they were taken. He was a mess, probably still coated in grime from the escape. He took a few hesitant steps forward, and heard the cheers turn into clapping. Krem and Bull meeting again at last? He knew that Krem had ached with loneliness while they were captured, missing the weight of people sleeping beside him. Krem had know Bull far longer, had been his lieutenant and most trusted adviser. Dorian...

Dorian was the former slave that shared his bed.

He paused at that thought, gripped with terror as he wavered on the steps to the next level down. While he and Bull had been monogamous, surely he wouldn't have stayed so during Dorian's absence. He was a man with a high need, one that Dorian indulged him in as much as he could, but he hadn't had Dorian for the past two months. For all he'd know, Dorian was dead, and therefore he was more than free to sleep with others.

 _And what of it?_ A stubborn voice said in the back of his mind. _He's not yours. He doesn't belong to you, he can chose to sleep with and not sleep with whoever he likes. Don't force a man like that to make decisions on your whims._

He blinked, the knot in his chest easing a little. They had talked, once, about how Bull didn't understand monogamy well. He had so much affection for all, and the only reason he'd truly fallen into monogamy at all was because Dorian shared his bed and he was reluctant to kick him out of it. There was no need for Bull to tether himself to one man when he could have others as well and still keep Dorian close. The knot practically disintegrated at that thought.

Slowly, he began walking down the long flight of stairs down from the top level. He reached the mid-level in something of a daze, a few of the Inquisition soldiers stepping aside to let him through as he turned towards the next stairs down. The shade from the giant canopies made stripes of light fall over his face, and he walked down the stairs, trailing his fingers over the intricate railing there. How long it must have stood, this ancient fortress, with all its shadows of Tevene influence and great spikes. How many people must have bled out on these steps, how many people must have held each other on these steps, how many people must have known love in this great hulk of a building.

He turned, passing the tents to the last stairs down and there he was.

Bull stood in the shadows of the entryway.

oOo

The sun was coming in behind him, streaming down over the rich gold of the stone and catching on each fine ridge of bone. He was dressed plainly, his mustache a mess, and his hair was gone. The remains of the day's grime marked his face, his eyes were heavily shadowed from poor sleep, and he was the most beautiful thing Bull had ever seen.

He walked slowly up as Dorian stood in the sunlight, burnished bronze. For one wild moment he felt certain his heart had escaped his chest, and then felt it slam against his ribs.

Oh.

 _Kadan_.

He took a few more tentative steps up, uncaring of the crowd that was hovering on the edges, far enough back to give them space. Dorian's hands were trembling, beautiful gray eyes starting to look a little shinier than before, and he stopped so that they stood equal. It was odd to look him in the eyes, odd and wonderful. He memorized every inch of his face, stress falling from his shoulders.

“You changed your hair,” he said, and Dorian laughed, hand going to his head as a tear escaped the corner of one eye. 

“Two months gone and that's what you lead with?” he asked, his smile so wide and bright that it felt like a second sun on his skin. 

Bull reached up, resting one hand on the back of Dorian's neck. There was another collar there, thin enough to snap, and he ignored it for the moment. “And how would you have opened the conversation?” 

Dorian's eyes went a little wild around the edges and Bull grinned as he grabbed his horns and pulled him into a wild, desperate kiss. The ache that had accompanied that last two months finally eased, and Bull gave as good as he got, the heat of it tinged with relief as he became reacquainted with the sweetness of those lips. Dorian's arms fell to his shoulders as they broke away, and he pressed their foreheads together. The sound of the crowd cheering fell away as they shared air, and Bull closed his eye as the very feel of Dorian's hands again staggered him. 

“Missed you,” he murmured when he could stand to open his eye again. Dorian was crying silently, the tears dripping down his face as they held each other. “When you disappeared I just about lost it. We thought you were dead for a bit there.”

“I'm so sorry,” Dorian whispered, pressing kisses to his cheeks like the touch of butterflies. “I-”

“Shhh, no,” he murmured, and pulled into a tight embrace. Dorian buried his face in his shoulder, ignoring the massive jutting shoulder guards of the shokra-taar. “Not your fault, _kadan_. Not your fault at all. Just wish we could have found you sooner.”

Dorian clung tight to him, letting out a slow, shuddering breath before pulling back and wiping at his eyes.

“I have something to ask you,” he said, and Bull reached up, cupping his cheek in one hand. 

“Anything.”

“Long, long ago, you told me that _kadan_ meant a shield brother. And in the future that wasn't, you called me that as well, and I asked what you meant because it was clearly not the feeling of a man with his brother in arms, and you said I'd learn. So, please, what do you mean?”

Bull's breath caught in his throat, and took Dorian's hand. “I told you,” he said softly, pressing Dorian's hand over his heart, “it means, 'where the heart lies'.”

“Somehow,” Dorian said, his voice cracking a little, “I don't think I have your heart in the same way Krem does.”

“No,” he agreed, and Dorian laughed, fresh tears making little rivulets down his face. Bull reached up to wipe his own away, laughing brokenly. 

“Oh,” Dorian said, his smile so wide Bull's heart swelled. “Oh, I love you too.”

oOo

Krem leaned on the doorway to the stairs, grinning as he watched the two hold each other. His ribs were still aching from where Bull had hugged him so tight he thought he might burst. Smiling as the pair kissed again, oblivious to the world around them, he walked back over to where the Chargers were sitting in the shade. It was shaping up to be a brutally hot day. Before he could reach the little patch of grass, however, Dalish and Skinner stepped forward. Dalish looked incredibly nervous, and Skinner had the same neutral expression as ever. He paused, looking between them, and then looked down. They were holding hands, very tightly.

“Aw, Dalish,” he said fondly, walking forward and hugging her tightly. “Finally. I'm happy for you.”

She promptly burst into tears of relief and buried her face in his shoulder. Skinner just punched his arm, looked pleased, and walked back to the others.

“You're not upset?” Dalish asked when she pulled back, a little more under control. 

“Of course not,” Krem said fondly, kissing her forehead. “If anything I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. Just her then?”

“Just her,” Dalish said with a shy smile. “She's all I can handle.”

Krem laughed, grinning. “Somehow I'm not shocked.”

She smiled, and wrapped an arm around his waist as they headed over to the pile of people waiting for them. Dalish had just sat down when Krem saw Rylen very deliberately not looking at them. 

“Give me a minute,” he said, and Dalish let out a little 'ooooh'. He ignored her, jogging over to Rylen. Herah, Cassandra, and Varric were all at the archway watching the two over grown love birds be saps at each other, and Rylen was obviously trying to escape the situation without it looking like he wanted to escape.

“Oh, Krem,” Rylen said wretchedly as Krem grabbed his shoulder. “You're, uh. You're looking better today.”

“Cut it out, Rylen,” Krem said with an eye roll. “I just got out of two months of forced celibacy and you've been stuck in the ass end of Orlais in a command position for who the fuck knows how long. Can we cut to the chase already?”

For a moment Rylen looked completely pole axed, then a slow smile spread over his face. “Well today's just a day for beautiful, heartwarming discussions, isn't it? My tent's up top, if you're staying for the evening. And I'll get dinner set up for us. ”

“Good. Now, where the fuck do I find a bath in this place?”

oOo

Seeing the man that had helped Dorian and Krem escape shrink back and make himself small as possible as he walked up made him feel a little nauseous. Bull took a careful step back at the low half-growl from the occupant of the next cage over. They were an odd pair, obviously Tevene, and the older of the two looked aggressively determined to break the bars free if anyone touched the man beside him. Herah rubbed her forehead, the headaches she'd started to have clearly starting to get to her already.

“This is Cortarus and Maximus Undarian,” Dorian said, with a bit of an edge to his voice. “They saved our lives, and we owe them a great deal.”

Bull didn't miss how Dorian was carefully positioning himself so that he was just in front of the cages, ready to fight if necessary. His heart ached that he'd been made so wary of even them. 

Herah managed a smile at the pair, who looked cautiously optimistic. “Thank you for taking care of them,” she said, and Max flinched. “No, I mean it, we've been... we've missed them a lot.” She waved Rylen over, and he opened the locks on both of the cages. “Dorian said you both had information on the Venatori?”

“I was the main runner and scout for Livius Erimond,” Cortarus said, stepping out and immediately going to his husband's side. Max let him tuck his head against his shoulder, kissing his hair. “I know the majority of the coming movements through western Orlais.”

“I was the secretary for Abraxus Terus,” Max said, his arm tightening around Cortarus' waist. “He owned my debts, I had no say in it. But I know everything he knew, except for what was only communicated between him and the highest order of the Venatori. Oh, uh. He was the leader of the team that captured Krem and Dorian.” He hesitated for a second before obviously rallying his courage. “Ah, Domina Inquisitor? I apologize, but I just got back my husband for the first time in a year, may we please be kept together if we're to be jailed? Please, even just to be across from him would be enough.”

Herah's eyes widened and a flash of pain crossed her face. “You won't be jailed. You've done a lot for us, I'm not going to just lock you up and throw away the key. If anything I'd like to welcome you to the Inquisition.”

Cortarus relaxed and Max let out an audible breath of relief. Dorian's shoulders lost some of their tension as well, and Bull walked away as Cassandra began grilling the pair as to what they knew. Dorian followed him, linking their arms as they walked.

“So,” he said conversationally, “they're a cute pair.”

“Oh, very. Ridiculous, the pair of them, but very sweet. Max is a delightful young man.” Dorian leaned against his arm, and Bull paused as he felt him trembling. 

“ _Kadan_?”

Dorian swallowed hard, sliding his hand down to grip Bull's tightly. “Would you mind if we went to the tent?”

Bull turned around, steering him back through the people to the tent that had been set up in the corner of the upper ramparts for them. It was shaded, and a relief to duck inside. Bull's bedroll had already been laid out by someone, and he sat down. Dorian wavered for a moment before practically collapsing on him, straddling his thighs and dropping his head to his chest. Bull slowly laid down, ignoring a twinge in his leg as he straightened it, and let his hands rest on Dorian's back.

They lay in silence for some time, simply breathing as the stress of the day began washing away. Bull closed his eye, the relief of having Dorian's sturdy weight on him again enough to make all the bad sleep he'd had in the past two months surge up. Exhaustion was waiting for him, and he let it pull him down, deeper towards real rest. 

He was almost asleep when Dorian whispered, “Bull?”

“Mm?”

Sleep shimmered before him, taunting him. He desperately wanted it.

“Will you hold me as I take the collar off?”

Sleep disappeared in an instant, and his eye snapped back open. Dorian was stiff in his arms, and he stared at the roof of the tent for a moment before carefully sitting up, Dorian still in his lap. They shuffled a little bit to get comfortable, and Bull's hand stroked down the knobs of Dorian's spine when they were properly settled. He was so lean, not that he'd ever been all that bulky to start with, but Bull wondered with a swoop to his stomach if the food had simply burned off, or if something darker had been at play. He knew the pain of starvation all too well.

Dorian reached up, running his fingers over the leather at his neck. “When it broke,” he said, his voice going thin and thready, “when it broke, I lost myself for a moment. It's been so long-” His breath hitched, and Bull slowly rubbed his back to soothe him as he struggled to smooth his breathing. “It made it real. I was free, just for a moment, and I didn't know what to do. Almost eight _years_. Almost a third of my life I'd been collared. I don't know what's going to happen when I take it off for good.”

“I'm here,” Bull said quietly. “No matter what happens.”

Dorian took a slow breath, reaching up to touch the collar. “I don't want to go back to that,” he said, almost pleading. “I promise. I don't want to be owned, I am not some piece of wayward property. But I don't know what's going to happen when I take this off.”

“I understand,” Bull said quietly. “I've got you.”

Dorian reached up with shaking hands, touching the collar. He froze, squeezing his eyes shut, and fire sparked at his fingertips. Bull watched as it ate through the leather, and as Dorian pulled his hand away the thin strip slid from his neck and off to the side. Dorian trembled, and Bull wrapped his arms tight around him, murmuring quiet nothings in Qunlat as he held him close. Dorian buried his face under Bull's chin, breathing heavily, and Bull reached up to hold the back of his neck.

“There you go,” he said quietly. “You're free, Dorian.”

“Maker,” Dorian whispered, as some of the shaking stilled. “Free. Oh, _fuck_. I'm free. Now what?”

“Whatever you want,” Bull murmured, kissing the top of his head. “Anywhere you want to go, we'll go. Anything you want to do, eat, see, we'll go.”

Dorian pulled back, smiling up at him. His eyes were wet, but he wasn't in tears, and the smile on his face was wide and bright. 

“Bull,” he said firmly, sitting up and taking Bull's face in his hands. “All I want is to be right here.”


	29. Between the Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for short mentions of Dorian being hunted as a game, and punishments inflicted by a former owner (sensory deprivation, beatings, solitary confinement, and forced silence) in no further detail than the words.

****

**To dream again-**  
**what that must be like-**  
**to know no fear-**  
**when once the night- **  
**had swallowed us up.**  
**\- Drago Hadden, poet mage of The Gallows. 9:38 Dragon.******

oOo

The darkness that spread over the Western Approach was a faded thing. It seemed that every grain of sand reflected the moon, washing the dunes in waves of silver light. Cassandra stood on the lower battlements of the keep and looked out over the great Abyss, stretching towards infinity.

A faint sound alerted her to her company, but she didn't bother to turn.

“Can't sleep?” She asked quietly, and Bull leaned on the crenellation to her left. 

“Nah. Too wound up. Dorian's dead to the world.” He rubbed the back of his head, sighing. “Looks like I was wrong.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at him, waiting. He practically glowed in the moonlight, his scars even more silver than normal. He looked haunted, staring blankly out over the landscape as if it would reveal some great secret, give him some grand piece of wisdom.

“Romantic love is the bond most easily broken,” Bull said at last, and Cassandra was thrown by the sheer exhaustion in his voice. “There's no romantic love under the Qun because of that, it fucks things up. The love of friends, of comrades, that's welcomed. Expected. But here I am with a 'Vint sharing my bed that I am- _fuck_ , it seems like I'm in love with him. No way I can hide this. There's going to be problems.”

Cassandra hesitated before asking, keeping her voice low, "Will there be repercussions that cause you to return to Par Vollen?"

Bull was silent, but the weight of the words clearly hung on his shoulders. The silence was answer enough, and Cassandra let out a slow, nervous breath.

"We will have to be careful, then, that no further problems occur," she said. "The Qunari do not do alliances, I doubt we would have to consider the ramifications of that particular hurdle. Instead we must consider what you will do. Will you report this to your people?"

"I don't know," he said lowly, "and that's the worst part. I'm not just some lone agent wandering the wilderness, I'm part of something way bigger. And sure I've been breaking tenants left and right, but there's a difference between that and fucking _romance_. Drinking, fucking, fighting for money? All forgiven for my cover. But Dorian's not part of it, and I don't have a fucking clue what to do."

Cassandra felt a chill run down her spine. She was reminded of the conundrum laid before her by High Seeker Lucius once, that of the lying man. If a man informs you that he always lies, is he lying about always lying? The Iron Bull, respected mercenary captain and notorious for his love of drink and good food, was still a spy in enemy territory. He was acting under official orders, reporting back to one of the most terrifying forces in Thedas, and he was one of the most impressive warriors she'd ever met. But the Bull shown to most of the world was an act, one specially designed to win people over and get information.

"Bull," she said carefully, "you turned yourself over to the- what is the word? Re-educators?"

"Yep," Bull said quietly. "It was that or kill myself. Woke up one morning and knew if I went out there I'd die. That seemed like it wouldn't be very useful, so I went to them to fix me."

"Did they?"

He laughed hollowly. "Not as much as I'd like. You realize that I ran that island, right? I was the one responsible for the whole Qunari presence there. My job doesn't even have a true title. I'm not all Hissrad. I'm Tallis, I'm Tamassran, I'm Beres-taar and Ashaad. It's shit, and it's rough, and it's an existence that's barely keeping me functional. But them. All that shit, it eats at me, but with the Chargers, with Dorian? It falls away. It doesn't make it better, not by a long shot, but it makes it less present. I'm not fixed. I was so thoroughly broken there wasn't much left to scrape together. You can ask the Hissrad in the Valo-kas. He's the one who remade me to be this."

Horror was the first emotion she felt, then understanding. “I was not remade as you were,” she said quietly, “but I was remade into the image of what the Chantry needed. When I became a Seeker, I was locked away in silence to meditate for so long that I wonder that I was not completely lost when they brought me back to the light. I know some of what it is, to be unsure on past, present, and future.”

He looked up at her, smiling wryly. “What a pair we are, huh?”

“Indeed.” She looked back out over the sands. “Whatever happens, I hope that you will find peace with the decision. There are days when I am... unsatisfied, I suppose, with my place. I search for peace of mind and find none. I would not wish that on any.”

Bull nodded, straightening back up. “I should try and sleep.”

“And yet,” she said wryly, and he chuckled. 

“Yeah, and yet.”

He walked away, back across the battlements, and Cassandra turned back to silver dunes.

They stretched to infinity, silent as graves.

oOo

They left Griffin Wing Keep at sunrise, making a short stop at the site of the fight to let Dorian give the dead their rites and check for any information as to who they were and how to contact their families. Bull hadn't been able to even look at the ruined remains of the man called Terus, the stench of burned flesh reminding him too much of Seheron. As soon as the bodies were finished, they began heading towards the Still Ruins, and Dorian rode beside Bull as the Chargers swarmed Cortarus and Max with questions.

“How is Felix?” Dorian asked quietly as laughter echoed behind them from something Cortarus had said.

“Not all that good,” Bull admitted, just as quiet. “You getting kidnapped took a lot out of him. I think Herah might be the only reason he's still going. They don't think he's got much longer. When we get home, well.” He sighed. “Herah wants a wedding, just in case. We'll see what happens.”

“And the terrible two?”

Bull grinned, shaking his head. “Leliana took on Shadow after I had a few words with her. Cullen's not thrilled about it, but Spitfire's training with the troops and doing well. Knight Captain Briony's taken to her. They'll be so damn happy to see you. Spitfire took it hard when you were taken.”

“It's good to know I'm loved,” Dorian murmured, and Bull chuckled, reaching over to take his hand and kiss the back of it.

They reached the Still Ruins, and from behind him Dorian heard Cortarus quietly praying for the Maker's vengeance in Arcanum, Max's voice a soft counterpart. Krem, for his part, simply spit to the side of his horse.

They left the horses tethered by the little pool with Rocky and Stitches guarding them, and walked through the short opening to the door. It loomed before them, and Krem stepped forward to clasp Dorian's shoulder. Dorian's hand unconsciously went to his neck, feeling for a collar that wasn't there.

“You don't need to come in,” Herah said quietly.

“I do,” he said shortly. “Better now than later, after I've tortured myself with the what-if's.”

The door creaked open, and they stepped inside.

Dorian paid little attention to the talks about how much nicer the place looked, making his way into the hallway that had been Terus' office. Bull followed close behind him, Krem trailing after, and the three of them walked down the stairs into the strange little area.

They had never replaced the space where the ceiling had collapsed, and so the light caught on the silver of the choke chain that lay there in a mass of ash from where the papers left had been incinerated. Dorian stared at the hateful chain, and shivered as Bull's fingers dragged through the ashes. The chain was so small as he lifted it up, and his face went tight with upset. Dorian looked away, holding out his hand in a silent gesture of desire.

Bull handed it over without a word, and Dorian felt the weight of the links in his hand.

“Quiet, quiet, why does he think I need to be more quiet when my voice is already stolen? I can't speak, what does he want with me? Don't _touch_ me, I am not a dog!” Cole's voice was soft, but echoed around the room. Dorian didn't turn as Cole came up beside him. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he had a chance to be powerful,” Dorian said, handing him the chain. “He was irresponsible with that power.”

Cole frowned at the chain. “This hurts you.”

“Yes,” Dorian said quietly. “It does.”

Cole looked up at him from under the great hat, clutching the chain. “He hurt you.”

Dorian sighed as Bull's knuckles went white from the strain of his fists. “Nothing past what I could bear. Cole, you've... done that strange pain trick before. You've seen some of what was done to me. In the grand scheme of things, this barely ranks above being forced to attend dinner parties as entertainment. He didn't beat me, even if he threatened to, and I got away from him. I couldn't get away from the people at the dinner parties. This is better.”

“But they still knew you were a person. He just wanted a doll,” Cole said, and dropped the choke chain. It lay on the ground between them, and Dorian was surprised to see Cole was trembling. “Why would he do that? You're a person, not a doll, you can't just make dolls out of people!”

“That's right,” Dorian said, crouching down to pick the chain back up. “You can't.” He held the chain back out to Cole, who took it carefully. “Terus is dead. The past is the past, and I can't change it. Take that home, and give it Harritt. He'll make it into something better, something untainted.”

Cole looked up at that, frowning fiercely. “You aren't dirty. You aren't. You're Dorian, and you're still one person, not pieces of one.”

Dorian smiled, feeling touched. “Thank you, Cole.”

Cole clutched the chain to his chest and left the room. Bull's broad arm wrapped around Dorian's shoulder, and Dorian leaned into his reassuring bulk with a soft sigh. 

“So, he chained you?” Bull asked quietly.

“No. He just put the choke chain around my neck, and he would tighten it if I upset him.” Dorian touched his throat, and shook his head sharply. “Enough. He's dead, and I'm still here.”

Bull bent to kiss the top of his head, and they delved into the rest of the house. The libraries were combed over, papers were gathered, and bedrooms checked through. At last, Dorian and Max led them down to the baths, and pushed open the heavy doors to the baths. Immediately there was a riot of noise from the group that followed them down. Blood, ash, sand- all of it could be washed away. Herah started stripping off her gear immediately, whooping.

“We should wait,” Dorian said quietly to Bull, and he nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of Dorian's head.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft. “Just you and me.”

They sat on the stairs outside, Dorian leaning into him, and Bull held his hand.

“We went into the Fade, at Adamant,” he said at last, and Dorian's head jerked up. “No, please- don't ask me about it yet. I've still got all this demon crap running around in it, I need to get that settled before I tell you about it. But it wasn't good. The fight was great, when we weren't trapped in there, but...” he shuddered, and Dorian kissed his shoulder. “Give me time.”

“All that you'll ever want. Even though I want every detail when you're ready. The _Fade_ , oh-”

"Dorian.

"Sorry.

oOo

The baths finally empty, Dorian sighed with quiet relief and began shucking off his clothes. Bull took more time pulling his gear off, and by the time he was bare Dorian was in the great pool with just from his eyes up peeking out. Bull lowered himself in slowly, letting the heat of the water soak into his aching bones. The ledge was the perfect height, and Dorian pushed off the side of the wall with the grace of someone taught from childhood.

“You swim well.”

“We're in a bath, not the ocean,” Dorian said mildly, reaching him and straddling him. He draped his arms over Bull's shoulders, locking them behind his neck and pressing his face against Bull's throat. “We had a deep pond in Asariel. My father feared drowning more than anything, so I had lessons from the time I was around three.”

Bull took a slow breath, letting his hand stroke down Dorian's back. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“The Qun had a file on you. I requested it.”

Dorian stiffened, but didn't pull away. “How much did they know?”

“Not much. Assumed deceased, but still listed as Halward Pavus' heir. Raised between Qarinus, Asariel, and Minrathous. An insane amount of different schools. Enchanter of the Vyrantium Circle, and would have made Senior Enchanter at the incredibly young age of 23. For a very short time was with Gereon Alexius and Livia Alexius as an apprentice, working on temporal distortion as an early attempt to either treat or cure the Blight. Three books published, all of which are still selling very well. Assumed to have returned to the Asariel estate some time in his 23rd year. Vanished shortly after his arrival.” Bull listed each thing with a dull exhaustion. “That was it. It was a very thin file.”

“My books are still selling?” Dorian asked into his skin, sounding utterly delighted. “I had no idea.”

Bull tightened his grip around him, holding him tight. “I can't say it was all that fun, reading that. It was kinda like looking at the story of a stranger, and wondering where they wound up.”

“Shall I fill in the blanks?” Dorian murmured.

Bull said nothing, his silence telling.

“Captured at night after being clubbed off his horse, he made a series of unfortunate and reckless decisions. Was shaved, dosed with magebane, and taken to the Nessum slave pens. Sold to one Capheus Nautilun. Was a bed slave and house slave, manipulated into obsessively trying to please Capheus, and after seeing his master beat his wife, murdered him and made it look like a suicide in order to protect her and the three children.” Dorian's voice was flat, tired.

“Dorian, you don't have to-”

“I want to,” he said quietly, and cleared his throat before continuing. “Wife and children were taken in by a local magister who viewed him as a potential threat for how loyal he was. Was taken away in the middle of the night, sold in Cumberland to the first of three Orlesians. Spent one year as a bed slave, sold after the man decided he didn't want such an unruly slave. Spent 4 years with the second Orlesian. Escaped the house but not the property four times, allowed to hunt to stay alive until the master became bored and organized a manhunt for sport. Learned slave sign on final escape from the elderly elven woman who tended the family graves. This was two years in. Was collared the first year of that stay, allowed to speak intermittently throughout. Was punished with sensory deprivation, lashing, solitary confinement in an underground cell, or forced into complete silence with total magic dampening. Second master grew bored at the end of the fourth year. Was sold to Delacourt. Bought out by The Iron Bull two years later, shortly before a second planned murder could occur.”

Silence fell for a moment before Bull breathed, “ _Fuck,_ Dorian.”

“Mm. A lot, isn't it?”

Bull's hand reached up to stroke through his hair. “You're a force of fucking nature.”

He felt Dorian smile against his throat, and dampness that had nothing to do with the bath. “I worked hard to stay alive. One day I'll tell you all the ugly details. But for now, that will have to do.”

Bull turned his head to kiss Dorian's newly bald head. “And the hair cut?”

“Terus liked to pet me.”

Bull shuddered, forcing himself to keep from tightening his grip further. He didn't want to injure Dorian, and much more pressure on his ribs would be downright cruel. 

“Bull?”

“Yeah?”

Dorian pulled back a little, reaching up to cup his face in both hands. His smile was tender, and Bull felt the ache in his chest ease at the sight of it. “I've a favor to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but I've been damn near celibate for the past two months.”

Bull grinned at the note of annoyance in Dorian's voice. “Couldn't get any time alone?”

“None. I was sharing a room with both Krem and Max, so we sometimes politely talked in a corner with our back to the other person but it was exceptionally awkward.” Dorian grimaced. “It wasn't pleasant.”

Bull smiled, rubbing circles over his back. “I'd bet. How do you want me, kadan?”

“Just you,” Dorian murmured, kissing his forehead. “You, your hands, you all around me. I missed you badly. Oh, and I'd like to hear about who you slept with. I've always enjoyed those stories.”

Bull stared at him. “Sorry, what?”

“Who you slept with,” Dorian said patiently. “For all you knew I was dead, surely you slept with someone while I was away.”

“Dorian,” Bull said slowly, “you remember that talk we had?”

“Which talk? We talk a lot.”

“That talk about monogamy. The one where I don't sleep with other people, and neither do you?” Bull gently stroked down his back. “Kadan, you said it yourself. I thought you were dead. I spent most of the past two months in mourning. I wasn't exactly in the mood to fuck someone when I was thinking about you, murdered.”

Dorian sat back a little, stunned. “That might be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me.”

“...Please tell me that's a joke.”

“It really wasn't. Necromancer, remember? We're all a little death obsessed. And frankly, people rarely truly mourn in Tevinter. I'm very touched.”

Bull shook his head, looking to the heavens, and Dorian leaned forward to kiss his jaw. He could see Bull hiding his smile.

“Well, I'm here now. And you're here now. And we have this massive, warm, lovely pool all to ourselves,” he murmured. “So please, will you put those wonderful hands on me, because I've been dreaming about your hand on my cock for about two months and I _missed_ you.”

Bull laughed, pulling him in for a soft, sweet kiss before letting his hand slide down to grip them together. Dorian groaned into his mouth, and he pressed his forehead to Bull's as his hips rocked into the slow rhythm of Bull's strokes. It was a short lived thing, both of them too wound up in each other and too long without the comfort of a solid slow fuck to care much. They pressed together at the end, and Dorian whispered soft endearments as Bull kissed over the lasting scars of the collar.

“It's another world out there,” Dorian murmured, and Bull kissed his neck. “One I don't know how to live in anymore. Nothing to mark me as someones but the marks I let you leave- I'm all my own, now.”

“I'll help you learn,” Bull promised, smiling into his skin. “You've got the whole world in front of you, and an old one behind you. What'd'you say, _kadan_?”

Dorian kissed his cheeks. “Let's go see what it has to offer.”


	30. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to The Bleachers "I Wanna Get Better", which provided the writing soundtrack for this chapter.

**“Meet halfway, and do not return by the path you traveled to get there.”**  
**-Fereldan proverb, Age Unknown.**

oOo

Stepping through the gates of Skyhold was like walking into another world. Suddenly, the calm that had carried them through their travels was broken. Herah was immediately swarmed by Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine, all clamoring with things to tell her. She ignored them all, and Dorian's eyes filled with tears as she raised her hand, the Arlathan Heart clutched in it. Felix stood with Vivienne on the balcony, and he blew a kiss down for her, and then spotted Dorian. Dorian held up his hand and brought it to his heart, a quiet salute, and Felix echoed the motion before sinking into a chair on the balcony with his face in his hands. Dorian's heart ached to see him so unwell, but was quietly relieved that he'd survived to be with Felix in his last days.

“Sorry,” she said to the group, “but I have a man to hold for at least five minutes before you can have me in the War Room. Tell Tana to meet me there.”

She dismounted and bolted up the stairs, and the others dismounted, gathering saddle bags and their gear. Cassandra marched Max and Cortarus to Leliana, quickly running their introductions to her. Cullen and Josephine managed to sidle over to Dorian and Krem, both looking relieved.

“We heard the news that you were alive and freed,” Josephine said, her hands clutching her board. “It is quiet a relief to see you safe and sound.”

“Quite a relief to _be_ safe and sound, Lady Ambassador,” Krem said with a crooked smile, bowing. She smiled and the Chargers swarmed through the gates to head to the Tavern, Krem bound up in the center of them while Bull and Dorian stood together, taking a moment to breathe.

“I missed this,” Dorian said quietly, looking up at the sky. “All the life just swelling up in this place.”

“Let's go to the room, get you changed,” Bull suggested, and wrapped his arm around Dorian. They climbed the stairs by the Tavern, not wanting to be waylaid, and Bull pushed open the door.

The room was just the same is it had always been since the Chargers moved in, but Dorian found himself stuck on the edge of the door, cold sweat trickling down his spine.

“Dorian?” Bull asked, concern in his voice.

“You...bought me,” Dorian said, his voice cracking. “And you freed me.”

“Yeah?”

“I- my clothes.” He could barely breathe. “I never wore anything different. Just Delacourt's things. Things in that style, or just leggings, I can't-” He stepped back, heart pounding. “I can't.”

“Whoa, that's okay,” Bull said, keeping his voice low and gentle as he walked back out of the room and shut the door behind him.

“I need a room,” Dorian whispered, blinking back tears. “I'm so sorry, Bull, I just can't, I need space. I can't be here, not yet. I have to leave.”

Bull went still, and Dorian could see his mind immediately jumping to the worst conclusion. “Dorian...”

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “Please, I swear I'll come to you, but I need to breathe. I don't-” his voice caught. “I don't know who I _am_ anymore. I'm not the man that left Tevinter, and I'm not the slave you bought, I'm not a slave and I'm not an Altus. I want to know who I am. I need to know who I am before I come back fully, before I can- before I can _be_ with you fully. I don't want to hold back just because I can't figure out if I see you as a master or a friend or the love of my life.”

Bull gave a jerky nod, and Dorian rubbed at his eyes, his breath hitching. 

“We'll go to Josephine,” he said, and Dorian felt a fresh wave at the quiet pain in his voice. “I'll bring your things once you've got a room. Go see Felix, I'll get you gear from the quartermasters.”

“Bull-”

“Please,” Bull said, his voice tight as he held back the emotion. “Dorian, you've got shit to work through. You need space, I'll give you space. You're _kadan_ , you always will be, that's not going to change just because you're not in my bed. I can wait for as long as you need.”

Dorian stepped forward, reaching up to cup Bull's face in one hand. “I'm sorry, _amatus_.”

Bull turned his face into Dorian's hand, breath hitching. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dorian whispered, his heart aching. “I love you so much, and I am so sorry.”

Bull pulled him in, and Dorian let himself be held as Bull took slow, shuddering breaths. He tucked his head under Bull's chin, and the pair of them stood there, silent and struggling. Finally, Dorian quietly pulled away, and Bull let him walk down the steps, away from him and the room they shared.

oOo

“You're sure you're feeling alright?”

Felix caught her hand, pulling it to his lips. Herah smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, and sat on the bed with him.

“I'm fine, love. Or as fine as I can be. Today was a good day. After all, you came home to me in one piece.” He gently tugged her down so they lay together, her head pillowed beside his. “Tana had a suggestion. She's been trying out things on me- handy, I suppose, to have a captive subject to work on.” He saw her bristle and chuckled, kissing her softly. “Hush, _cara_ , I consented to all of it. Some of it has actually worked. She suggested the Joining as well, though I'm perhaps to late in the stage of it to do so. But there's... well. There's potential for a potion.”

Herah ran her hand over the tight cut of his hair, pressing their foreheads together. He was slowly but surely growing gaunt, finding it more and more difficult to keep food down.

“I hate going away from you,” she said quietly. “I don't want to go anywhere until the wedding is done.”

“Love, you may not have a choice. Tana needs dragon blood for the potion, so unless you plan on loaning her your Inner Circle, you may have to go. And I know how much you love fighting dragons.” He grinned and she laughed, draping an arm over his waist. 

“I do love fighting them, yes.” She smiled fondly at him. “There's something so wonderful about being able to beat up a beast a hundred times my size. I should make the skull into a throne some day! That would be fantastic.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I thought you liked your throne.”

“I do! It's intimidating. But a dragon skull throne, babe. _Dragon skull_.” 

Felix laughed, kissing her again, and she melted into him.

“Hey,” she said quietly as they parted. “Hey. Felix.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

He smiled, his whole face lighting up. “I love you too, dearheart.”

There was a knock on the door, and Herah rolled out of bed with one last quick kiss. “Coming!”

“If only,” Felix muttered, and she shot him a scandalized grin over her shoulder before hurrying down the stairs and throwing open the door to reveal Dorian. He shifted on his feet, eyes anxious, and she beamed at him.

“Dorian's here!” she called, and tugged him inside.

“Dorian?” Felix called, and Dorian's smile lit up the whole room. He took the stairs two at a time, and Herah followed, smiling as Dorian hurried to Felix's side and wrapped him in a hug.

“Welcome back, brother of mine,” Felix said fondly, and Dorian let his head drop to Felix's shoulder. “I see that you're finally uncollared.”

“I am.” Dorian sat on the bed beside him, taking his hand. “I'm a fully free man now.” His smile faded a little. “It's more difficult than I expected. Part of me hasn't quite grasped the idea yet. I will, in time, but for now...” He shrugged. “For now, I'll figure it out.”

“Of course.” Felix squeezed his hand. “You remember how there were resources for the Liberati? You don't have those, but I think you'll do just fine. You have lots of people who care for you, and we'll help you find your way again.”

Dorian smiled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing, and Herah leaning on the railing as the two of them talked.

oOo

“A room?” Josephine asked, surprised. “Why do you want a room? I was under the impression that you and The Iron Bull were cohabitating.”

“We were,” Dorian said quietly, struggling to keep from fiddling with the arm of the chair he was in or the things on Josephine's desk. “But I'm recently fully freed, and with that comes complications to my relationships. I need time and space for myself. Please, I know it's unorthodox, but even a small room would be wonderful.”

“There is still space above the garden,” she said thoughtfully. “Those were just barely cleaned out, but haven't been fully repaired yet. There's one left, though you may have to do some cleaning.”

A few minutes later, Dorian found himself with a key and standing in front of an old, solid door. His hand trembled as he opened it, and he stepped inside slowly. It was the furthest down from the corner, tucked into the very end, and was actually fairly large. The floor was still dusty from where boards had been removed, and a chaise lounge was covered by a sheet in one corner. There was a bookshelf, a rickety dresser, a weathered mirror, two paintings in questionable repair, and a great deal of greenery. The bed was sturdy and had had its mattress replaced, which he was grateful for, and he gently touched the leaves of the small bush growing in his new room.

“I suppose if I get tired of you I can use you for kindling,” he said with a smile, intending no such thing. While he had no fondness for camping, the plants were rather pretty. Arbor Blossom lingered on one wall, its flowers just starting to open. A long trapdoor had been set into his ceiling, and was currently opened to let light in. He ran his fingers over the dusty mantle, and smiled around the space.

“Well,” he announced to the world at large. “My own room.”

It was strange to say those words, and to shake it off he went to fetch a broom and firewood.

Bull found him a few hours later, after he had cleaned out the room and begged a loom and some rags from one of the craftsmen, and ducked to get through the little door. “This is nice,” he said quietly, looking around the room. He carried a bag of Dorian's things, including his pillow, and Dorian took it gratefully, setting down the loom where a rag rug was beginning to grow. His few small trinkets went on the mantle, and he stepped back to bury himself in Bull's arms.

There was very little that was his, but what there was he found precious. Skinner had given him a massive crystal, Dalish had brought him a tiny wolf statue, and Grimm, Rocky, and Stitches had collaborated to make him a complex orb of stone latticework that also served as a puzzle and way to keep his fingers nimble. Felix's Arlathan Heart had been retrieved from his bags, and hung on a hook above them all. Bull kissed the top of his head, and Dorian sighed into his chest.

“Do you think Vivienne could find me a tailor who could make clothes to my specifications?” he asked, looking up at Bull.

“I'm sure she could.”

Dorian hesitated before plowing ahead. “Would... would you stay here tonight? With me, in my space?”

Bull nodded, gently stroking over the short scruff of hair that he'd grown on the trip back. “I'd be happy to, _kadan_.”

“I'm sorry,” Dorian said, taking a moment to steady himself. “It's been so long since anything's been on my terms. I mean, sex is. You've always made that perfectly clear. But, well.” He stepped back, gesturing at the chaise. “Can we sit?”

“Of course.”

They got settled and Dorian took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

“I've always sort of felt that everything was, well, yours,” he confessed. “I knew I had a right to it, and that my place was beside you- No,” he held up a hand as Bull opened his mouth. “Please, let me finish. I know that you don't own me, and didn't own me, but it truly wasn't until that first night at the inn that I felt powerful enough in my own right to step outside the box I'd created for myself. Please remember, I'd been very well conditioned to be the bed partner of whoever owned me, and I identified that as you for some time. My first owner, he spent several months pampering me and wooing me so that I wouldn't fight when he decided to use me for the purpose he'd originally intended. While I was theoretically bought to help him wake from nightmares of Seheron- and yes, the irony is not lost on me Bull, don't look at me like that- in the end, I was just a bed slave that he fucked. I was completely enraptured by him, and what I told you was true. I did cry over him, I sobbed even as I killed him to protect his wife and children.”

Bull held out his hand, and Dorian took it, clutching tightly.

“You bought me clothes, jewelry, a staff... all fine things. You were kind, gentle even, and it had been a very long time since I'd felt anything gentle in my life.” He smiled a little bitterly, looking down at their hands. “It took me a long time to realize that expected nothing back, and for the first time since I left Tevinter I actually wanted. So, I made my move. You must understand, I _truly_ wanted you, and I was shocked by this. It took me weeks to work up the courage to take you to bed.”

“I'm glad you did,” Bull rumbled, and Dorian laughed, turning his head to kiss Bull's shoulder.

“I am too.” His smile faded a little. “But there's... well. Even when things became ours, they always felt like yours. Your tent, your rooms, your things, and your people. I know my place in the Chargers, I always have, but ever since Herah asked me to be a part of the Inner Circle I've felt like there's this disconnect between us all. I don't want things to be that way. I want us to have a family, a happy one. And I want us to be balanced. Equals. I know that you feel we are, but I don't. I need to find that balance for myself, to know where that line is and how not to cross it again.” He clung tight to Bull's hand, and looked up at him. “I want to be _better_.”

“Oh, Dorian,” Bull breathed, and rubbed at his eye. “Of course. All the time you need. I just wish you'd told me sooner.”

“I didn't have the words for it then,” Dorian said, leaning into him. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” He lifted their joined hands to kiss them. “Thank you for telling me. And thank you for not giving up on this.”

“Of course. Now, that is _quite_ enough talking about my feelings for one day.” Dorian stood up, and Bull smiled up at him, his eyes soft. “What?”

“But Dorian, I didn't get a chance to talk about _my_ feelings,” he said, teasing a little, and the weight of the room lifted.

“Ugh.” Dorian straddled his lap, settling back down, and Bull gently cupped the back of his head. “All right, feelings. Let's have it.”

“Just thinking that you're gorgeous, I'm proud of you, and I love you.”

“Sap.”

Dorian tugged on his horns, and Bull smiled as he obliged him with a kiss.

oOo

“DorianDorianDorianDORIAN!”

Dorian was tackled as he walked across the garden, the wind nearly knocked out of him as he fell. One of the Chantry sisters covered her smile as he rolled over, looking into Sabine's smiling face.

“Well, well, look who it is,” he said fondly, and she flung her arms around his neck. Marcella appeared in his line of sight, her hair pulled up for once.

“Hello Dorian,” she said mildly. “I'm glad you're alive.”

Sabine sat up, letting him up, and immediately launched into speech as she grabbed his hand. “The coolest thing happened while you were all kidnapped and stuff which was actually really scary, so don't let that happen again please because I _cried_ BUT I got to talk to the Commander and Marcella totally fleeced him for everything he had and he said I could train with the warriors which was _so cool_ and Bull said that if I did really good at my training he'd think about hiring us on when we hit eighteen and I got to learn how to hold a shield and used a sword even though it was _wood_ which wasn't as cool as like that huge pink axe that Bull has but Krem has a really awesome huge maul and I want one of those instead.” She sucked in a breath. “And Marcella got to be with Lady Nightingale which is _amazing_ and she's learning how to do all this fancy stuff with daggers and we still have to go to lessons but Grand Enchanter Fiona says that as long as we keep up with our work we can still go and do the actually interesting stuff and I passed my specialization test! I did! So I get to learn fire after all and Felix said he was soooo proud.”

Dorian indulgently let her pull him away towards the Great Hall, his heart swelling when Marcella quietly took his other hand. Someone, he noticed, had finally found Sabine some pants that fit.

“And now you're here and you could teach lessons again which would be really good because Grand Enchanter Fiona is like, the only really good combat mage and Solas doesn't like kids very much so he avoids us and Madame de Fer says she'll come and teach me only after I've passed my Harrowing, which I don't think is very fair because I'm going to be a Knight Enchanter, and a _really good one_ because I won't have to summon a huge glowy sword I'll already have a sword and I'll just enchant it and then I'll whack all the heads off! Or maybe I'll have a maul like Krem because those are so cool and I want one so so so so bad but Bull said I couldn't have one until I could lift at least 100 pounds so I'm doing lots of push ups and sit ups and running and Commander Cullen keeps yelling at me for running through his office but then he just gave up and started leaving the door open because I'd just throw it open anyways. I missed Krem a lot but I'm glad you were with him so both of you could be kidnapped together. I think being kidnapped alone would be really terrible so it's better to be kidnapped with friends.”

Sabine chattered all the way down through the Great Hall, and Varric waved at them as they walked past.

They reached the main doors and Sabine added brightly, “Oh, and Marcella and I are going to get married.”

“Oh, are you?” Dorian asked, grinning.

Marcella nodded gravely. “We want a nice fall wedding. Parvulis. We think the twelfth. It'll be in six years so we have lots of time to plan.”

Sabine bobbed her head repeatedly, beaming, and swung their hands as they descended the stairs. “It's going to be _great_. I want to make the Commander officiate but Marcella says Lady Nightingale would be really happy if we let her do it instead.”

“I think that would be very nice,” Dorian agreed as they reached the end of the stairs. “And for what it's worth, I missed you both very badly.”

Sabine let go of his hand so she could throw her arms around his waist and hug him hard.

“Don't get kidnapped again,” she said into his shirt. “I was so freaked out.”

Dorian smiled, ruffling her hair. “I promise.”

“Good.” She let him go and bolted to where Krem was standing in order to tackle him in a hug as well. Marcella looked up at Dorian, and gave him a small smile.

“We missed you a lot. Madame de Fer missed you, and Solas missed you, even if they won't admit it. They spent a lot of time pretending to fight in the library and then drinking by your chair. I think they were lonely.” She squeezed his hand, leaning into him. “Felix was really unhappy, and the Blight got worse very fast for a little bit. But it's better now, because you're here and Felix says he could do anything as long as he knows you're okay.”

“I think Felix is vastly overestimating my power as a cheerleader,” Dorian said, letting to to pull her into a hug. A tiny hand reached up to clutch his shirt, and he gently kissed her head. “I know how hard it can be, not knowing if someone's alive or dead. The waiting is the worst of it, because you don't know how to grieve, or what to even grieve for. You've been very brave, Marcella, and I know it can't have been easy.”

There was a tiny sniffle against his shirt, and he held her tight. After a moment she had herself back under control, and together they walked over to where Sabine was trying and failing to terrorize Grim.

oOo

There was an impromptu party that evening, and it was honestly mostly a blur. Dorian remembered hugging Sera for a very long time, Blackwall's beard in braids, and Solas declaiming poetry on top of a table while Varric laughed hysterically and Cullen very literally fell asleep in a corner. Bull and Dorian left and wound up in Dorian's room, and burrowed under the covers to indulge in lazy kisses and wandering hands. Sex was off the table entirely, but it was good to be in a bed together instead of just a bedroll.

They woke up only slightly worse for the wear, and when Bull tried to climb out of bed Dorian pulled him back down.

“Bull,” he said sleepily, “I had a thought.”

Bull burrowed back under the covers, pulling them over his face, and made a generic noise to indicate he was listening.

“I've never fucked a man.”

Bull pulled the covers back down. “Sorry, what?”

“I've never not been on the receiving end of fuckery,” Dorian said with a yawn. “Not even the once. You know, I'd never even considered it before.”

“Holy shit.” Bull stared at the ceiling, and Dorian kissed his cheek. “Dorian, we've got to do that.”

“Hmm?”

“You need to fuck me.”

Dorian blinked, swimming a little closer to being awake. “Bull, I don't know if you noticed, but you're kind of enormous. Which I appreciate. _Oh_ do I appreciate. Never change.” He absently patted Bull's stomach. “Wouldn't be a little, I don't know, unbalanced, me on top?”

“Hey now, topping from the bottom is a _thing_. Like, a whole thing. It's a great thing. One time I got fucked like that and honestly I thought I had some sort of religious experience, it was that great.”

“I've never done it,” Dorian said, punctuating the sentence with another yawn. “It wouldn't be that good. Practice makes perfect, or whatever.”

“We should break in your bed.”

“What, already? I don't think the quartermaster would give me another.”

“No, not _break_ the bed.”

“Ohhhh.” Dorian giggled, too tired to do much else, and flopped his arm over Bull's chest. “I like that idea.”

“Tell you what,” Bull said sleepily. “We'll do that this evening. How's that sound?”

“Sounds like we need to buy more oil again.”

“I'll put it on the shopping list.”


	31. Still Stone, Rushing Water

  
**“How carefully we walk-**  
**balancing on threads of love and duty,**  
**on honor and what we will do**  
**to maintain it all.”**  
**Deseridatus Thalrassian, 9: 18 Dragon**  


oOo

Skyhold was once again a buzz of activity as the freshly returned soldiers went back to training. The day was warm, but the enthusiasm people had was dampened by their lowered numbers post Adamant. The Inner Circle had thankfully escaped mostly unscathed. Dorian watched as Tana left with Varric, Cassandra, and Solas in tow to go fight a dragon. Cassandra had take the time to beat Bull with a stick prior, and Dorian was still trying to wrap his head around the purpose.

 _Qunari_.

He turned around from where he'd been watching the training on Vivienne's balcony, and stepped back inside.

“I must say, it does make things a little easier, now that you can speak freely,” Vivienne said, passing over a sketch pad and a pen. Dorian took both gratefully, sinking into a chair as he began to carefully sketch. “How are your new appointments treating you?”

“Oh, they're simply marvelous. I must say, I never expected to be happy about plants in my room, but this... well.” He shrugged. “There is something rather soothing about it. I spent quite some time foraging on the estate of my third owner when I ran away, and that might have been the happiest I ever was while in his care. Despite the unending, ravenous hunger, it was very peaceful to come and go as I wished through his woods. In the winter, when we went south, it was a little more difficult to vanish on his property. It was much, much smaller.”

“Where was his southern estate?”

“Oh, but you've been to it,” Dorian said without looking up. His hand was uncertain thanks to years of forced neglect, and he was determined to regain his skill with a pencil. “Villa Maurel. I understand while I was kidnapped that you, Sera, Cassandra, and Herah cleared it out.”

Vivienne had gone still, and he glanced up. Her face was a mask of carefully banked fury, and he took a moment to breathe and remind himself that it wasn't him she was mad at. She carefully set down her work, keeping herself rigidly composed, and he forced his hand not to tighten unnecessarily on the pencil.

“I was unaware Ramond Maurel made a habit of taking slaves,” she said calmly.

“Yes, well.” Dorian shrugged one shoulder. “It's hardly something one goes around bragging about in Orlais. Besides, he only took me as a favor to my previous owner. I won't bore you with the details.” He went back to sketching, resisting the urge to poke his tongue between his teeth as he carefully drew the rough shape of an arm. Thankfully, it didn't seem that literal years of work it had taken to learn the first time had faded.

Vivienne sighed, looking out the window towards the gates. “My dear, I find this all quite horrific. Why didn't you say something, and avoid going to the Graves? There was no need to go through that once again. The Valo-kas and the Chargers could have been easily switched.”

“Less demons would inhabit the Graves,” Dorian said, beginning to draw the basic shape of the clothes. “Herah chose to Bull's strengths and weaknesses. He hates demons more than anything, and the reports we were getting from the Plains suggested there were enormous numbers of them. I was hardly about to whine when we would be far from Villa Maurel anyway. Besides, Villa Maurel was nothing in comparison to the estate he keeps. It was practically a pleasant vacation when we were there, since he didn't have anything to hurt me with and forcing me to sleep outside was hardly a problem, given the climate.”

“That is hardly the point, dear. There is no point in suffering needlessly.” She pursed her lips and went back to her work. “Shall I have words and see to it that Maurel is damaged in the coming conflict?”

“Absolutely not.” Dorian paused, waiting for his hands to stop shaking. “This is not your history, it's mine, and I will decide what to do with it.” The words came out sharper than he'd meant, but he wasn't about to apologize. Vivienne simply inclined her head, and he turned away from the understanding in her eyes.

oOo

Unfortunately, speaking again meant that he was immediately dragged into teaching again, and so Dorian found himself striding down the stairs into the basement later that afternoon. The students were chattering, and all stood up from their benches as he strode into the room and down to the movable chalk board that had been found.

“Good afternoon, I am Enchanter Dorian Pavus, and you all may be seated,” he rattled off, thumping a tome onto the nearest table and turning to face his new class of necromancy hopefuls. There were quite a few of them, and the dining hall was mostly full. There were a few soldiers as well, curious onlookers, and as he watched two dwarves sidled in as well. Dagna, of course, sat on the front row. “If you have passed your harrowing, you are welcome to this class. The work here is from beginning to Senior Enchanter, and we will probably work through the material quickly.” He picked up the roll sheet, squinting at it. “So, we have ten technical students. Hands up.”

The first two rows put their hands up, and Dorian looked them over. It was an even mix of elves and humans. “Very good. And auditing, we have... fifteen? Really?” He sighed. “Hands.”

The others put their hands up, and he shook his head. “Honestly. Some of you need to transfer into regular class, this is ridiculous.” He set the roll down, and gave them one last look. “All right, it appears you are all here, so lets get started. My name is Enchanter Dorian Pavus, and you may address me as Enchanter, or Dorian. Until quite recently I was enslaved in Orlais and lost the ability to write, so you'll have to put up with my shoddy penmanship until it improves. I may have non verbal days, so if that happens there will be a translator to help me. I was classically trained in Tevinter and held the title of Enchanter at 23, so I'm more than a pretty face, thank you. My specializations are Necromancy, Pyromancy and theoretical applications of time magic, which have turned out to be much less theoretical than expected. 

“This class will be taught in the Tevinter style, as that was how I was trained, and will cover everything from the very basics to simulacrum creation. This is _not_ the same as the Mortalitasi school, so if you're looking to learn that art you'll need to speak with Master Viuus Anaxas.” Dorian thumped the tome he'd brought with him, making the students jump. “I teach fast and dirty, so I expect you to keep up and attend office hours if you've missed something. We're in the middle of a war and there's not much time to dwell on the esoteric arts. You will have regular papers, and yes, auditors, I expect them from you as well. We will have practical tests often, as that's one of the fastest ways to learn these things, and we will spend a great amount of time in the practice ring. Congratulations, you get to learn how to fight as well as summon in this class.”

The students looked a little overwhelmed, so he smiled brightly at them. “Now. Books open, because we're jumping immediately into basic horror spells.”

oOo

“How was it?” Felix asked as Dorian climbed onto the bed to sit next to him. There were a group of younger students, including Sabine and Marcella, working out number problems that Felix had set them in the bedroom.

“Quite good. There were quite a few onlookers that were very interested and asked good questions, which was nice.”

Felix smiled, reaching up to pat his face. Dorian couldn't help his smile.

“Good job, Dorian. Keep it up.”

“I will.” 

Sabine hopped up from her chair and shoved her book at Felix, who took it and began looking it over. Dorian's eyes bulged a little at the sight of the entire page completely full of just one problem, the numbers dancing between columns and a series of letters also shoved in with them. In the back of his mind his mathematics teacher had just slammed a ruler on the desk and started screaming.

“Algebra?”

“Advanced algebra,” Felix corrected absently, smiling as he circled the final answer. “Impeccably done advanced algebra. Very good, Sabine, I'm very proud.”

Sabine beamed at him, taking the book back. “Can I go to practice now?”

“You may.”

She darted in to hug him, waved at Dorian, and bolted down the stairs. A few of the others drifted over to have their work checked, most of it much less complicated, and Marcella came over to reluctantly hand over her book. Instead of a number sheet, the question had apparently been a word puzzle. Felix read over her answer, written in a tight, precise hand, and smiled as he reached the conclusion. 

“What was your line of thinking with choosing archers over daggers?” he asked, closing the book.

“Archers can be hidden in trees and longbows can punch through armor,” she said. Felix nodded approvingly, and handed it back.

“Very good. I believe Leliana wants you next,” he said, and she nodded, giving him a quick smile before heading out the door. Dorian settled in, resting his head against Felix's shoulder and letting himself drift off to the sound of pens scratching over paper. 

He woke up after the children had left, and found that Felix was quietly writing in a small journal. His wrists had gone so thin of late, his whole body so frail. Where once he had been broad and stocky, he had turned wiry and thin, skin stretched over a birdlike frame. He had never been an especially handsome man, but now he was exceptionally gaunt, slowly moving towards the inevitability of a ghoul. At least, Dorian knew, he would activate the magic tattooed into his skin to stop his heart before he could fully turn. Felix would die himself, not a shell.

“You're dying,” Dorian said simply, the reality of it finally hitting him deep in his chest, a physical ache. Felix sighed, his hand pausing in its work, and let his head rest against Dorian's.

“I am.”

Dorian fumbled for his hand, and Felix let him take it, holding tightly. They breathed together, and Dorian fought down the lump that had clogged his throat and blinked back a few tears.

“Tana has a few more things she wants to try,” Felix said quietly, squeezing his hand. “She's fetching dragons blood and lyrium, to see if there's something like the Joining she could do. But I'm dying, and I'll be married before I go.”

“What if it works?” Dorian whispered, his voice catching in his throat. “Your life is already extended.”

“Then it'll extend further.” Felix shrugged, exhaling slowly. “I want to die on my own terms, but now there's someone in my life who I want to be with. And that complicates things.” He shrugged, turning to kiss the top of Dorian's head to make him smile. “But for now, we're both here.”

Dorian sighed, pressing his face into Felix, and together they sat in silence.

oOo

_The Triumvirate have sat in council. An alliance will be offered with The Inquisition, provided their worth is proven. If interested, in five weeks time a dreadnaught will attack a lyrium shipment out of the Storm Coast, coordinates to follow. Herah Adaar is of interest to the Qun- there is much we wish to understand about her unique abilities._

oOo

Bull shaved the sides of Herah's head to the sound of the river a week later, and settled his soul.

“A letter showed up last week,” he said, listening to the waves lap the shores. It was far from the crash and boom of the ocean, and he breathed in time with the slow curl of them. The Exalted Plains were far from Seheron. The birds here didn't squawk or chatter, they sang. Their little songs echoed off of the rocks and the ancient ruins of a once great temple. “The Qun is offering an alliance.”

Herah held her hands in perfect meditation posture, identical to his own practice when he took the time. He was hardly surprised. Hissrad had trained her to perfection, as much as Vashoth could achieve. Perhaps they were something like siblings, now- brought to a new life by the same sire. It was a strange thought. “The Qun doesn't do alliances,” she said, her voice quiet, controlled.

“That's right.”

He began braiding her hair, and thought, _Kithshok_. He thought of the tall warriors with their clean white braids, he thought of _saarebas_ collars, and he thought then of the masks covering the faces of mages. Herah, following quietly, only _saarebas_ and full of the potential for abuse at the hands of a cruel arvaarad. His hands were steady, his breathing perfect, and inside his mind was a war.

“What's the deal supposed to be?” She asked quietly, maintaining her breathing. He felt a flash of pride, tempered by sorrow. So well trained.

“Covering a dreadnaught run to take out a lyrium shipment,” Bull said, breathing in the smoke of a sinking dreadnaught off the coast, ruined houses behind him, blood- no. Just the grass, the ever present smoke, and Herah's faint perfume. Sweet pea and violets, she always wore it, a tiny touch of femininity. “I don't know who they'll send for it, but this doesn't feel good to me. I can't think of any time in history they've willingly gone for an alliance.”

“Maybe we'll be the first,” Herah said, but it was halfhearted at best.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Bull thought about the braids, the meditation, the antaam-saar, the vitaar. She spoke as a Vashoth, she was upfront about being Vashoth, but she listened closely when Taarlok and Ashaad 2 argued Qun philosophy in the tavern. She sat at Hissrad's feet when he was working, talking to him, learning like any young _imekari_. She made vitaar stamps with Blackwall, talked about Ashkaari Koslun- and she always used the title- with Katoh. 

He thought about Herah, laughing, her forehead pressed so gently against Felix's, so small when she stood among the Valo-kas, leashed and bound and struggling in heavy armor.

“Bull?”

His hands had stopped moving.

“Sorry, just got lost in thought.”

What would the Qun want to pay the price?

oOo

**To: The Iron Bull  
**  
Riverwatch Camp

_Dear Bull;_

_The bed is colder without you. Grim keeps me company in the evenings, after Krem has nodded off, but he does not stay, and I do not ask. There were a number of beautiful men in the tavern tonight, Antivan. Josephine flirted outrageously, and they tried to woo her. They all failed, because Josephine is a magnificent woman who is far too good for any of them. However, one did flirt with me, and I cannot say I've been so pleased in months. Men, flirting with me! Krem thinks I'm being ridiculous._

_I did a bit of personal experimenting with the things you left and. Well. You'll enjoy the results, I think. (Leliana, please do not go through my things.)_

_I love you dearly. Yours- Dorian_

oOo

He cut and he cut and he cut and he cut. The world was endless dead, his skin crawled with dark magic, and he wanted to be anywhere that didn't have piles of bones stacked up, no pits of the dead. Herah called lightning like she was made of it, lit with violet fire as she directed it without a staff, her own long broken. He let the rage take him as she grasped rotting heads and burned them up from the inside out. She called it a Smite, and she moved like Death.

Sera rained destruction he neither saw nor felt. Cole flitted about, somewhere, unseen.

Herah grasped the Arcane Horror when they reached the pit, and poured its own medicine back, black and purple wrapping her body in terror and destruction as lightning ripped the Horror apart. 

But she lit the bones with a flint, and cried as they burned.

The Exalted Plains ached with despair, and The Iron Bull walked out into the river after the fight and let the waves cover all but his face, washing away all the pain of the day. He whispered mantras to himself, wondering what he had done to deserve such punishment, and remembered-

Standing for days, trapped for days, caged for days, watched, always- Vidasala looking him over, sharp nails against his cheek, dispassionate, a beautiful woman harder than diamonds. Words of question, qamek mentioned, Hissrad-Vidathiss with his silver eyes asking question after question until the answer is satisfactory- ten years, whispered when they think he can't hear, ten years, how- so resilient- should breed that sort of line, mental resistance- he cannot tell them that he went mad long ago- the shame of his body failing, the relief of submission, Hissrad-Vidathiss stroking his head, praising him softly, please let me be good, be worthy, be usefu-

He breathed, and let the water wash it all away, leaving only the sweet release of tension in his shoulders as the cold water soothed away the worst of the ache.

oOo

**To: Josephine Montilyet  
**  
Skyhold

_My name is Maevaris Tilani, and I am a magister, enemy to the Venatori. I will arrive at Skyhold in four days. Varric Tethras can and will vouch for me, as will the King of Ferelden. The matter is urgent._

oOo

**To: Herah Adaar  
**  
Riverside Camp

_B aekv tef- hvabm ___

__oOo_ _

____  
**To: Felix Alexius-Adaar  
Skyhold**

___ ._. _._ _ …. ._ ._. _.. . ._. ._.. _ _ _ ...__ _

__< 3__

__oOo_ _

__They arrived in Skyhold under a cloudless sky, and Dorian breathed a sigh of relief as he watched dismount from his window, high above the lower courtyard._  
_

__“They have returned, then,” Solas said from near the entrance of the alcove. Dorian turned, and saw him looking at the bottle of brandy sitting on the table with a frown. He ignored the frown, and answered the question._ _

__“It looks like they're all in one piece, hale and whole.”_ _

__“Excellent.” Solas gave him a rare smile, fingers resting on the wood of the table, tracing a whorl in it. “How are you adjusting, with a room of your own?”_ _

__“Strangely,” Dorian said, sitting in his freshly claimed chair. After Fiona had snapped at someone for trying to pick a fight while Dorian was in the midst of a panic attack over being left alone, he'd been blessedly free of people trying to take his little space. “One one hand it's quite nice. On another, I keep waking up from terrifying nightmares and thinking I've been locked into a basement room to be starved into compliance. It's an interesting balance.”_ _

__Solas was too polite to stare, but his fingers had tightened on the table. “Was that something that happened to you?”_ _

__“Many times,” Dorian said, fingers twitching with restless energy. “I acted out more than my owner would like, and while he liked his “feisty Tevinter beauty”- his words, not mine- he would only tolerate so much backtalk before I had to be taught a lesson. After I almost blew up a collar when he tried to drown me, he switched to starvation and solitary confinement.” He looked back out the window, unable to stomach the carefully banked rage on Solas' face. Bull was talking to Krem, and Dorian drummed his fingers on his chair._ _

__“How did you end up in this?” Solas asked after a long pause. “Surely you did not sell yourself into slavery.”_ _

__Dorian barked a laugh, reluctantly looking away from the window. “No. I had no say in the matter. I was stolen and forced into slavery, not sold. I was illegal, _non-contracti_ in Tevene, which was why when my first owner died I was shipped over the border. It was much easier to sell a pretty, bratty slave in Orlais, where there would be no sale records kept. The nobility of Orlais could break me as they pleased with no fear of repercussions. Even in Tevinter, there are some laws regarding the safety of slaves. Not that they're followed, or enforced, but at least there is some sort of pretty illusion. In Orlais, all that existed was pain and brutality.”_ _

__Fiona's soft voice cut in, “An apt sum up. Orlais is far from pleasant.”_ _

__Solas hummed softly, and Dorian smiled up at Fiona, his mouth twisted wryly. She inclined her head with a dry smile of her own, and added, “Sister Nightingale wishes to speak with you.”_ _

__It was a short walk up the stairs, and as Dorian rested against the railing Leliana flicked her eyes up at him._ _

__“Maevaris Tilani is arriving in three days time,” she said, and Dorian's stomach dropped._ _

__“So soon?”_ _

__“We received no word until she sent a message yesterday. She is apparently quite skilled at traveling undetected. As far as any of my agents knew, she was in Minrathous.” Leliana adjusted her hood, frowning. “Cortarus is an exceptional agent, and even he, with his knowledge of some of the most hidden ways in and out of the Imperium, has no idea how she so effectively disappeared.”_ _

__“Maevaris Tilani is a singular woman,” Dorian said quietly. “It will be strange to see her after so many years.”_ _

__“You were friends, I understand.”_ _

__“Friends is a bit too strong a word,” Dorian mused, a smile quirking his lips. “Pleasantly close acquaintances would be better. She was embroiled in scandal at the time, and I was a caterwauling drunk being straightened out by Alexius. Society would not have looked well on the pair of us stepping out for lunch.”_ _

__Leliana nodded, running the back of a finger down the puffed out chest of one of her ravens. “I understand. And what should I expect in personality?”_ _

__Dorian smiled, memories of a happier time lightening the weight in his chest. “A dazzling beauty, an unparalleled duelist, and a perfect hostess. Were she and my father not on opposite sides of most debates, and she had the ability to bear children, I'm certain my parents would have attempted to marry me off to her. She is the very epitome of Tevene perfection, though as her mother was Orlesian, quite pale.”_ _

__Leliana chuckled. “I have heard she is a beautiful blonde.”_ _

__“That's very true,” Dorian nodded. “Anything else you would like to ask?”_ _

__Leliana pursed her lips, then said with careful deliberation, “There will be rumors, when Magister Tilani arrives. Your existence will not be hidden for long.”_ _

__“I've been lucky so far, I'm well aware.” Dorian fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt, skin crawling at the thought. “But, for now, all will be well. I'll hurtle myself over that bridge when we arrive at it, I suppose. I expect, if my family discovers my existence, they will attempt to drag me back to Tevinter. Make no mistake, I love Tevinter dearly. She is my home, and I ache to be away from her, but I cannot go back. Not when I would simply step back into shoes belonging to a man who died nearly eight years ago.”_ _

__“I understand,” Leliana said with a quick nod. “I will watch the borders, and inform you if any move is made.”_ _

__“My gratitude, Lady Nightingale.”__

__oOo_ _

__  
_My dearest love;__  
_

___I find you in the curls of every flowering blossom here. You are here on the wind, in the breath that is stolen from my lips and whisked far away, to where you sit in warmer, greener lands. I trace these ancient stone walls and find your steps, your strength, and my heart delights to be enfolded in you, to be surrounded by your love. Most sweet and beloved of my life, you are every fresh budded leaf and the crisp crack of ice, the soft kiss of ripe peaches to my tongue._ _ _

___Come home to me soon._ _ _

___Yours in devotion,  
Felix _____

___oOo_ _ _

___Bull found him in his room later that evening, sprawled out on the bed with a journal in one hand and a book in the other. He closed the door with a quiet groan of relief, and Dorian looked up with a wide smile.__  
_

____“I see you've returned to me in one piece,” he said mildly, and Bull chuckled._ _ _ _

____“Came pretty close for a second there,” Bull said, sitting down on the bed and bending to kiss the top of his head. “Few too many demons for my taste, but we cleaned house. The Valo-kas had pretty well decimated the local bandits and helped with one of the forts, but we had to deal with the other ones. Shit show, all around, but we're back in one piece.”_ _ _ _

____“And we're all grateful for that,” Dorian murmured, sitting up and drawing him into a slow, lazy kiss. Bull sighed into it, and let Dorian push him down onto his back. Dorian's hands were a welcome relief after nearly two weeks apart, and he let his eye close as Dorian let his fingers wander over the expanse of his skin. Here, safe and warm and away from the reek of old blood and decay, he could feel any leftover tension starting to fall away._ _ _ _

____“How's Felix?” He asked, his tongue a little slurred as the need for sleep began sinking into his spine._ _ _ _

____“As well as can be expected. Go to sleep, Bull. I'll still be here when you wake.” Dorian kissed his forehead. “You're welcome to sleep here.”_ _ _ _

____“Mmn.” Bull sighed, toeing off his boots and slumping on the bed. “Wake me up if you ever need me out.”_ _ _ _

____“As if I would ever throw you out,” Dorian murmured, kissing him once more before going back too his desk, and Bull let sleep take him._ _ _ _

____He woke to the sound of birdsong, and Dorian's quiet breathing where he lay tucked against his side. He remained still, staring up at the ceiling, and stayed that way until Dorian stirred and sighed into wakefulness._ _ _ _

____“Morning,” he said quietly, and Dorian hummed, sitting up to kiss his cheek._ _ _ _

____“Morning,” Dorian replied, his voice muzzy from sleep. He looked odd without the mustache and hair, and Bull ached with how much he missed the Dorian he was used to. “You slept very hard.”_ _ _ _

____“I always sleep better when you're here,” Bull said, running a hand down Dorian's back. Dorian arched into it like a cat, loving the contact, and Bull couldn't help his smile. It faded after a moment as he came back fully to the present, and reality sank back in. He sighed, pulling Dorian in to kiss his forehead. “I'm going to snag some of that porridge and fruit before I talk to the advisers. You want to come with?”_ _ _ _

____“I'd better go and prepare another of my lessons,” Dorian said with a sigh of regret. “We're moving on to spirit coercion and I need to aggravate my children into behaving before I make them run laps around the keep to cool their heads. They are far too undisciplined.”_ _ _ _

____“I'm sure you'll get them wrapped around your little finger in no time,” Bull said with a grin. “Go get 'em, big guy.”_ _ _ _

____Dorian waved him off, smiling. “I'll meet you for lunch. Oh, ah. Magister Maevaris Tilani will be arriving soon to see me. It will probably be in the next few days.”_ _ _ _

____“How're you doing with that?” Bull asked, and Dorian shrugged._ _ _ _

____“I'm coping as best I can. It's been quite a few years since I've met an Alti that doesn't either want my head on a pike or in their lap.” He smiled wryly. “We can talk more later. For now, go.”_ _ _ _

____Bull stole another kiss before leaving, and missed Dorian's smile all the way to the war room._ _ _ _

____Another Triumvirate waited for him, he reflected as he walked down the long, twisting halls. Here he sat in the balance next to Herah, a Vashoth and a Qunari facing each other with three people on either end waiting for a response that might shift the balance of the politics of Thedas. A Qunari alliance with a Vashoth led Inquisition would be a sight to behold. Curious, too, that the Triumvirates all held the same posts, the Ariqun and Arigena as Josephine and Leliana, and the Arishok as Cullen. He sighed, pausing to look up at the stained glass as he reached Vivienne's balcony. She wasn't there yet, likely busy winning support for the Inquisition with the nobles downstairs. The sunlight streamed through it, casting painted lines across his face. He closed his eye, basking in the light of the sun, and whispered a plea for support to the listening world._ _ _ _

____Herah and the others used the small door in the War Room doors, but at over seven feet in height and broad as he was, there was not a chance Bull could get through. He stepped back to watch as the massive doors were hauled open, feeling an inordinate amount of glee as they creaked wide enough to let him through. As soon as he was through they were dragged shut again, but he ignored watching them in favor of going to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen._ _ _ _

____“Where's the boss?” he asked, looking around the room._ _ _ _

____“Felix has taken something of a bad turn,” Leliana said. “She will not be joining us for the moment, but I will brief her on the situation when she is ready.”_ _ _ _

____“Fair enough.” He pulled up a chair from the corner, not willing to put too much pressure on his bad leg, and Josephine gave him a brief, strained smile._ _ _ _

____“Let us begin, then.” She adjusted the papers on her board, and tapped her pen anxiously against it. “An alliance with the Qunari.”_ _ _ _

____“The Qun,” Cullen corrected, staring at the map as if he could set it on fire with his mind. “Leliana?”_ _ _ _

____Leliana traced the outline of Orlais, frowning thoughtfully. “I have read the reports. The offer is genuine. On the surface, it appears that they are curious about the potential of having the Inquisition as a sibling force, and they are very interested in Herah.”_ _ _ _

____Bull shrugged. “She's _saarebas_ , to them. A _saarebas_ leading armies and kicking the shit out of demons, and a tiny one at that. Most of the _saarebas_ are enormous, and she's just...”_ _ _ _

____“Tiny,” Cullen said with a wry grin. “For a certain definition of the word.”_ _ _ _

____Bull nodded. “She's unique, and they're curious.”_ _ _ _

____“They offer us more reports from around Thedas,” Leliana said, tapping the map. “Venatori movements would be easier to track, information on the nobility would be more accessible, and we would move freely through the paths known by the Ben-Hassrath.”_ _ _ _

____“It _would_ be useful to have such an army available,” Josephine said thoughtfully. “They are the most powerful in Thedas, after all.”_ _ _ _

____Cullen's fingers twitched but he forced them steady. “Yes, well,” he said quietly. “I've also seen firsthand the destruction that could occur, should they turn on us. No offense to your people, Bull, but I was in Kirkwall during the invasion.”_ _ _ _

____“None taken.”_ _ _ _

____Josephine hesitated a moment before saying, “There is another consideration we must make.” Everyone looked to her, and she bit her lip. “We do have the Valo-kas in residence.”_ _ _ _

____“Ah,” Leliana said, and Cullen winced._ _ _ _

____“Yes, that will be a problem.”_ _ _ _

____“Herah will take the brunt of the blame if there are Qunari inside Skyhold,” Josephine said. “She'll be seen as a traitor to her people. We may as well ask King Alistair to host Celene in Denerim.”_ _ _ _

____Bull's heart sank at the thought. “Shit.”_ _ _ _

____“Could we arrange it so that no Qunari were allowed entrance to Skyhold?” Leliana asked, turning to Bull. He nodded, drumming his fingers on the table._ _ _ _

____“It wouldn't be easy, but I can probably work something up. You'll have to issue a statement if things go through,” Bull said, turning to Josephine. “If you don't want Herah's people up in arms against the Inquisition, you'll need to spin this as best you can. People won't be happy, not after Kirkwall.”_ _ _ _

____“Indeed not,” Cullen muttered._ _ _ _

____“We do have time before the meeting,” Leliana said. “Almost a month. We can prepare in the meantime, and the alliance offer may yet be withdrawn. Herah may yet decide that she does not wish to deal with the Qun, and decline their meeting.”_ _ _ _

____They all went silent at that, everyone knowing that she wouldn't._ _ _ _

____“In any case,” Bull said, levering himself up, “I'll let you know when the coordinates arrive.”_ _ _ _

____“Iron Bull,” Josephine said suddenly, “will it be a problem, to have the Qun so close to yourself?”_ _ _ _

____Bull smiled, but it was as bleak as any winter day. “I'll handle it.”_ _ _ _

____Later, standing outside in the sun, he felt chills run over him that had nothing to do with the snow. Looking up, he watched as birds flew over the circle of the keep, and caught sight of Dorian by his window._ _ _ _

____The demands of the Qun had to be met, but what was the price he would have to pay?_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I dragged myself out of the hole I've been trapped in! This chapter was sponsored by a dinosaur and a princess, both of whom I am eternally grateful for.
> 
> Speaking of which, if you want to sponsor a chapter on account of me being poor as all get out, let me know.


	32. Love and Sacrifice

  
**There are none so loved, so cherished, and so fiercely hated as our own families.**  
**Tevene proverb.**  


oOo

Maevaris Tilani arrived entirely without fanfare, and no one even knew she had arrived until she swept into Josephine's office and introduced herself.

Things happened rather quickly after that, and before he knew what was happening Dorian found himself alone in a small side room, staring blankly at a woman he barely knew.

Maevaris hadn't changed much in the years he'd been away. The hair was longer, curled, no longer in the fashionable undercut that had been so popular among Alti when he was last in Tevinter. Her clothes were vastly different, curiously fur trimmed, but she still wore her usual blue. 

“I must say,” she said quietly, sitting on one of the hard little chairs that graced the room, “I didn't quite believe Cortarus until just this moment. The story of Dorian Pavus has become something of a legend, these days. Inventor of time magic, debonair defier of the rules, mysteriously vanishing without a trace. The popular theory is that you stowed away with pirates and are now a swashbuckling menace on the high seas. Although as I recall, the other favorite is that you joined Brother Genitivi and ran about the world with him as a humble apprentice. Gereon hated that one.”

“The truth is much more sordid,” Dorian managed to get out. Speaking was like spitting words between his teeth. “Apologies, I was- collared, for a long time. I- couldn't speak. It's difficult some days.”

She nodded, eyes hard. “I understand.”

“You really don't.” Dorian drummed his fingers on the little table that sat between them, huffing out a sigh. “Why are you here?”

“I'm here to see if you want to go home.”

Dorian laughed, not caring that it was a grating, ugly sound. “Home. Ah, if you had seen the things I have you would raze her to the ground. No, as long as there are slaves in House Pavus I will not go home. I have spent the past 8 years at the whims of cruel men who enjoyed human toys. No more, and none in my house.” 

She nodded, suddenly looking exhausted. “You should expect your parents soon. When last I heard, Aquinea was leaving Minrathous. Terus was kind enough to send letters bragging about his newly captured slave to both of your parents, though I believe Halward is still sequestered in with the budget committee.”

Dorian shrugged, looking away from her to study the somber Inquisition banner on the wall. “It was inevitable, I suppose. It was an empty hope that I'd be able to hide forever.”

Maevaris sighed, resting her chin in the palm of one hand. “A land full of secrets, but none of ours they keep.”

Dorian inclined his head, the saying a familiar one. “All the same, it would have been somewhat nice to not have to face the past quite so soon. I'm not entirely certain I'm facing the present with all my being intact.”

“As it goes,” Maevaris said quietly. Silence descended for a moment, awkward and thick before she cleared her throat. “Well, this is going well.”

Dorian laughed, covering his eyes, but it came out more like a sob. Wiping at suddenly wet eyes, he said, “Yes, well. These things happen when you don't see each other for years on end. Come on, we can talk more on a walk around the battlements. I think we could both do with clearing our heads.”

They walked in silence through the halls, avoiding people as much as they could, and slipped out onto the battlements without anyone the wiser.

“You know,” Dorian said as they strolled the battlements near the mage tower, “it's strange to see you after all these years. I've spent so many of them just trying to make it to the next day, I never really thought much about the people I left behind. The first few months I did, granted. I was always wondering if someone would come looking for me, or if they would send out posters or something, but I never saw any. Perhaps I was merely too well hidden away from the world.”

“Where were you?” Maevaris asked, looking out over the sharp spines of the Frostbacks. 

“Nessum, more or less. I was first sold in the slave markets there- they knew a _non-contracti_ would be too obvious in Marnus Pell or Vol Dorma, so they took me as far south as they could manage. You remember how long my hair was? They shaved it and the mustache off, and that was enough to break me the first time.” He sighed, running his hands over the fuzz that was finally growing in, just a bit longer than Felix kept his. “I was already so shattered from being held captive so long that it wouldn't have taken much. A few threats, being stripped of my things and having them sold, and my most visible identifiers removed? I was little more than very handsome putty.”

Maevaris frowned, looking back to him. “So it is true then. Halward kept you hostage.”

“Three months,” Dorian agreed. “Three months, well and truly locked inside the Asariel house, with only myself to talk to. I was fairly mad by the time he arrived, I would have agreed to almost anything.”

Those months crawled under his skin, and his shiver had nothing to do with the cold mountain air.

“If you want, I'll be happy to make him pay,” Maevaris said, not looking at him. 

“No,” Dorian said, looking down at the great gaping maw of the valley below them. “This is my fight, all the same, and I would dearly like to make him pay in my own way. I've spent enough time to know that I want to do this on my own, to find where I sit as a person again.”

“If it helps,” Maevaris said slowly, “I slaughtered the people who murdered my husband.”

Dorian turned, shocked. “Thorold was murdered?”

“They _claimed_ it was a fall.” Her mouth twisted around the words, her eyes going hard. “I found those truly responsible and took my revenge.”

“Did it help?”

She shrugged. “It may, in time.” She braced her arms on the wall, looking out beyond, and smiled a little. “I'll let you know when I find out.”

oOo

Aquinea Thalrassian Pavus arrived two days later, escorted by no less than five body guards and wearing iridescent silks that gleamed like sunshine as she walked through Skyhold's courtyard. Dorian watched her from the window of his nook, unsurprised at her finery. Aquinea had been an icon in Tevinter long before she was chained to Halward Pavus, and married life had hardly stopped her. The dress was a wildly different style since the last time he'd seen her- this was form fitting to the hip before belling out, and had tight sleeves to her forearm before they trailed down like streamers. Unique, and daring. He was unsurprised.

“Fiona,” he said absently, marking his place in his book before setting it aside. “I'm afraid I'll be leaving you on your own for the next few days.”

She looked up from her work, raising an eyebrow, and he nodded out the window. She joined him, looking down, and clucked her tongue as she watched Aquinea float up the stairs. 

“You look quite like her,” Fiona said mildly. “She is quite the beauty.”

“She's renowned for it,” Dorian said, sighing. “The only thing she's more famous for is being colder than the Frostbacks.”

“Ah.” Fiona squeezed his shoulder, smiling a little. “If it is necessary, I will suddenly have great difficulty with the research and pull you away.”

Dorian chuckled, setting his book down and blinking hard to keep the tears from gathering at the corners of his eyes. “You're too kind, _madame_.”

He straightened himself up before going down the stairs and across the Great Hall, taking his time. There was no purpose in rushing- Aquinea would not appreciate it, and neither would Josephine. 

Dorian opened the door to Josephine's office, and casually waved away the guards with their hands on their swords. Josephine looked like she was doing her level best not to be upset and failing, her hair frazzled and her cheeks flushed while Aquinea stood like a serene statue in the middle of the room. She turned soundlessly, not even the whisper of silk betraying her, and for the first time in eight years Dorian looked his mother in the eyes.

Even approaching the end of her fifties, she was an impeccable beauty. Qarinan born, she and Dorian had the same skin tone and nose, but her hair was finer, and an inky blue-black. Her eyes were the same storm cloud gray as his, tinged oddly from the gold she wore, and her hair was in a long braid down to her waist. A single streak of silver ran through it, ignored, and she wore no jewelry save for a pair of ruby drop earrings that matched her silks perfectly. Aquinea needed no ornamentation to be beautiful, and knew it. She looked him over, betraying no emotion.

“Lady Thalrassian,” Dorian said, keeping his voice perfectly level. He bowed his head, just to the correct indication of a lady of rank higher than his own.

“What have you done to your hair?” she asked, her voice coolly disdainful.

“It was not my choice,” he said, maintaining the illusion of serenity. Aquinea sniffed, and waved a dismissive hand at the bodyguards. They left silently, and she glanced only briefly at Josephine.

“Leave us,” she said, and Dorian winced.

“Mother, this is her office, perhaps we should-”

Aquinea turned one steely eye on him. “I have spent the past week riding from Minrathous with none of my comforts, and will be leaving again within a day. The trumped up daughter of a low class merchantman family can spare me fifteen minutes to speak with the man I have not seen in 8 years, I should think.”

“ _Mother_ ,” Dorian hissed, shocked. Josephine looked like she'd been slapped, her cheeks flushing dark. 

“The Montilyet's are entirely dependent on this one,” Aquinea said, glancing at Josephine as if she were a particularly uninspiring statue that happened to grace the room. “They do not trade with Orlais, or Nevarra, and their fleet is routinely decimated by pirates. As I recall from my reading, between the time of your capture by that odious stain upon humanity and my arrival they have lost no less than five ships. Should I feel obliging towards them, I can offer up contacts in Qarinus and some patronage, but should I be continued to be treated like some sort of Tevene malaise, my temper will fray faster than Orlesian velvet and that good will shall disappear.”

“It is no trouble,” Josephine said quietly. “I will be fine in the War Room.”

“Ambassador-”

“Lord Dorian,” she interrupted, pleading with her eyes, “fifteen minutes will not a war make.”

 _Lord_ washed over him like ice water, and the fight went out of him as he watched her gather a few papers and quietly leave. Aquinea sank onto a couch, considering him with eyes as cold as any hawk.

“You didn't have to be so cruel,” Dorian said when the silence grew too heavy.

“I am long out of kindness,” Aquinea said, draping her braid over one shoulder. “Any patience I had died when I came home to discover a house covered in blood and my only child missing. So far as I am concerned, Halward killed that woman along with you. I've no time for dancing about words to win power.”

“And how have you spent these past few years?” Dorian asked, feeling the bitterness on his tongue.

“How else?” Aquinea said flatly, looking to the window. “From the inside of a bottle, or the inside of salons, or wherever I could be that Halward was not. I bought a house on the Nevarran border, where I spend the summers. It is enough, for now. For the past five years I've wondered when he would come to finish me off, but he never did.”

“What did you think happened?”

She shrugged one shoulder, the silk of her gown rippling. “I presumed you fought, and he won. You were- are, quite powerful, but you have never seen Halward fight for what he truly wants. He is monstrous in the ring, even without blood magic.” She adjusted an earring, and shook her head. “Now I know the truth is far worse.”

Dorian hesitated, uncertain, and then saw how her hands trembled where she held them in her lap. 

“Amma,” he said quietly, sitting beside her. Aquinea looked away, shaking, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Amma, look,” he said, his voice cracking. “It's me. I'm still alive, I promise.”

A sob ripped from her throat and she pressed a shaking hand to her mouth before turning into him and wrapping her arms tight around him. Dorian clung to her, fighting back tears as he pressed his face to her neck. He and Aquinea had never been close when he was a child, but they had become something like friends when he grew older. They were just becoming close when he had been taken. 

Aquinea pulled back with visible effort, composing herself and taking Dorian's offered handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “I apologize,” she said, clearing her throat. “I am overly emotional.”

“It's been a long time,” Dorian said, taking her hands. “Please, don't feel bad.”

“I was the one to push for you to be listed as deceased,” she said, shaking her head. “I believed so firmly that Halward had killed you. Had I known he would drive you to this-”

“He didn't drive me anywhere,” Dorian said, stomach churning at the thought that anyone could sell themselves in. “I... This may be hard to hear. I-I-I-” He forced himself to stop, closing his eyes and breathing slowly to calm himself. One of the new side effects from the collar was a _delightful_ stammer that popped up whenever he seemed to feel anxious. Once he was better under control, he opened his eyes and continued. “Father decided to try and change me with blood magic. To make me like women. It didn't work, I ran away on my horse and was captured. They knew that with my face I'd be sold fast, so they took me from Asariel to Nessum and sold me there.”

Aquinea shuddered, hissing out a curse. “A name, and I will destroy them.”

Dorian smiled, a little touched. “No need. I already have. They threatened the Inquisitors family home and we were sent to destroy them. It was... quite satisfying, honestly.”

“Good,” she said, clearing her throat and dabbing at her eyes again. “Good. When will you be returning to Tevinter? There will be a great deal of paperwork to do, and we will have to start reintroducing you to society-”

“I'm not going back,” Dorian said flatly. “Not until House Pavus has not a single slave.”

Aquinea stared at him. “Dorian-”

“I wasn't some kitchen slave,” he said, stomach roiling. “I was a bed slave. A toy that happened to be able to do tricks. I was bought for the express purpose of being raped, repeatedly. There is no consent there, Amma. Free the slaves, hire them all and pay them true wages, and then I will consider it.”

Aquinea narrowed her eyes, looking him over thoughtfully, then nodded sharply. “Very well. As for Halward, I will take my revenge in due time.” She smoothed down her dress, looking thoughtful. “And your owners- I trust you will destroy them.”

“You taught me well, mother.”

“Indeed I did. When you are finished, do not let so much as scrap of their honor remain.” Her eyes flicked to him, hard as diamonds. “I expect nothing but the best from you. This place crawls with Orlesians, who are as brittle as dawnstone. _You_ are dragonbone, and I would not have you forget it. Bring those who would ignore you to heel, and crush them beneath it.”

Dorian couldn't help his smile, inclining his head. “Thank you, mother.” 

She sniffed, examining her nails. “ _Orlesians_. So very arrogant, the lot of them. It's like being surrounded by a nest of squawking, poorly dressed birds.”

“Have you _seen_ those horrible puffed sleeves the men are wearing? And the codpieces!”

“Overcompensation, surely.”

Dorian burst out laughing, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to contain it. Aquinea touched his shoulder, and he reined himself in with a few spare giggles escaping.

“Dorian?” she asked, looking a little alarmed.

“Oh, it's just... Eight years! And here we are complaining about fashion, as if I were gone a week instead.” He wiped away a few laughter tears, beaming. “I've missed you.”

“Oh.” Emotions warred on her face, and she swallowed hard before saying tremulously, “I've missed you too.”

He pulled her into another hug, and they sat there together for quite some time, just breathing.

Finally she pulled back, clearing her throat. “Your ambassador, would you fetch her?”

“If you promise not to eviscerate her with your tongue.”

Aquinea rolled her eyes and waved him away, and Dorian slipped down the hallway to the War Room. Josephine had left the door open, and he stepped inside. She looked up from a sheaf of papers, smiling tightly at him.

“Before you say anything, I would like to apologize for my mother,” Dorian said, holding up a hand. “I'm sorry you had to deal with that. I thought you would like some time to get her under control, but I should have come quicker.”

“It's alright,” Josephine said, patting her hair back into place. “She is hardly the first person I've met with such thoughts.” She ducked her head, lips twitching into a grim smile. “Sometimes it is simply hard to hear, even when it is the truth. I was a trumped up merchants daughter long before I was an ambassador, and some days I need to be reminded of that. Humility is important.”

“Bullshit,” Dorian said, startling a laugh out of her, and he led her back to where Aquinea waited.

Aquinea waved a hand at the couch, and Josephine cautiously took a seat as Dorian adjusted the papers on her desk.

“As I recall, your house largely transports wine,” Aquinea said without preamble. “Acceptable quality- nothing to scoff at, but not gracing the Archon's table. A fine ambition to be sure, but House Pavus' main export is fine silks, including the one I wear. As my idiot husband has let the trade slump thanks to his preoccupation with the Qunari threat in Seheron, I am left with control of the House. Is there market in Antiva for fine silks?”

Josephine's eyes went wide. “Indeed there is. I knew House Pavus had a great number of silk weavers, but I had no idea they were quite so fine. We unfortunately have to wear more furs and heavy wools here, but in Antiva...” 

Aquinea inclined her head graciously. “Indeed. Dorian, if you would-”

“Of course.” He bowed politely and jogged off to go fetch tea, and smiled as he heard Josephine say, “You may have noticed that I'm quite partial to gold myself-”

oOo

Of course, because Dorian couldn't have any sort of luck in his life, they ran into Maevaris as they left Josephine's office a while later.

“Ah,” Aquinea said, considering her thoughtfully as Maevaris inclined her head slightly. “Magister...Tilani. Athanir's daughter, yes? Maevaris?”

“You're correct, Lady Thalrassian,” Maevaris said with a smile that was all sharp edges. Dorian quietly inched back. He had no great need to get between the two as they danced. He was inching away when Varric sidled over, bumping him with an elbow.

“What're they doing?” He asked, nodding at the two as they minced about each other like a pair of cats. 

“Posturing,” Dorian sighed. “Give it another five minutes.”

Varric looked bemused, watching as Aquinea laughed politely and Maevaris smiled through gritted teeth. “So, what, they're figuring out who's the top dog?”

“No, they're mostly just feeling each other out and deciding how dangerous the other is. Then they'll come to some sort of truce so no one gets murdered until appropriate.” Dorian shrugged. “Mother's only here a day, thankfully, so there likely won't be any duels or anything. Come to that, I don't actually know who'd come out on top in a fight.”

Varric grinned, nodding at Maevaris. “I've seen her fight. My money's on her.”

“I'll take your word for it. I should go and find Bull, let him know my mother is here. She'll probably want to steal me away for the evening, and we'd planned on dinner.” Dorian sighed, running a hand over his short hair and making a face. “We had tentatively made plans for a nice dinner out on the battlements. Any idea where he is?”

“You're out of luck for now, Sparkler. He's up talking with Herah, who knows when they'll be out.” 

Dorian sighed, crossing his arms and looking to the empty throne. Varric followed his gaze. “What is it?”

“It's just... The Valo-kas talk, some, when they think others aren't listening. They love Herah, and they're quite proud of her, but they don't like that she relies so much on him. I don't blame them. As much as I try not to think about it, The Iron Bull is still Qunari and beholden to their laws and ideals.” Dorian shook his head, crossing his arms. “She looks up to him as, I don't know. A brother, perhaps. An uncle, a father, someone she can trust and rely on. And I fear that may come back to bite them both. The Qun is not kind, surely you know that, and I worry at the thought that they may ask something of him that he can't give.”

Varric grimaced. “And he doesn't make it a secret he's already been through reeducation.”

Dorian nodded, sighing again. “When you see him, would you let him know that my mother's here? I'm sure I'll be dragged off before I can return to the library.”

“Will do.” Varric clapped him on the arm, and Dorian managed a tight, tired smile. He still had far too much to explain to Aquinea. The story would take a great deal out of them both, and he was not looking forward to reliving his past any more than he already had. He and Maevaris had spoken some in the past few days. The words came slow and painful, but she knew more about the story than anyone aside from Bull. She didn't understand it all, but it helped to tell someone he already trusted.

Sighing, he turned to look out the massive doors at the sky beyond. 

“One day,” he whispered, watching as birds flew from the tower. “One day, it'll all be done.”

oOo

Herah paced like a caged thing in the room, and Bull sat quietly out on the balcony. The last rays of sunshine were coming down through the clouds, warming the stones, and he needed all the heat he could get to keep his leg from aching like it was caught in a bear trap. They were alone, for the time; Felix had found the energy to go down the stairs and make his way to Vivienne's balcony to work on some equations. Bull still wasn't sure Felix should be up and about, but it was too late to go hunt him down now.

“Maybe I should call a meeting,” Herah said, spinning on her heel and stalking over to the door to hover. “Let everyone have their say and put it to a vote.”

“That's your call, boss.”

“I mean,” she continued, pushing forward with a bit of desperation, “this doesn't just affect me and the Inquisition. This affects all of us. If I invite the Qunari in, and they take the opportunity to slaughter my people, I'll be the one responsible.”

Bull's stomach lurched. “They won't slaughter them.”

The look she gave him was profoundly annoyed. “Oh? Then what was it you were doing on Seheron?”

“Boss,” he warned, and she threw up her hands.

“We don't talk about it, but come on! I'm Vashoth, alright? I've always been Vashoth, I'll always be Vashoth, and there's nothing that's going to change that. So far as the Qun's concerned, I'm a disease that needs to be wiped out before it can spread! You told me yourself that I'm not the kind of Tal-Vashoth you hate, but that's just bias.” She turned on her heel again, pacing between the desk and the door. “I know there's a lot of mixed feelings about the Qun in the Valo-kas, and in Bettani, and everywhere, but we're in the middle of a war.” Herah turned, glaring at him. “What did I do to deserve having to pick whether I'm a traitor to my people or a traitor to all Thedas?”

“No one ever said it was going to be easy,” Bull said, trying not to feel hurt.

“No one ever said I'd have to become an outcast,” Herah said, choking on the words. “No one told me I'd have to do this again. How many more times? How many? When do I have to turn on Shokrakar and Kaaris?”

Bull stood, holding his hands out, beseeching. “If you say no, we let it go.”

Herah wrapped her arms around herself, looking down. “They could change _everything_. They could save us! I've no right to be-” Her voice caught, and she rubbed at her eyes. “I have no right to be u-upset because I'll be alone again. That's the point, isn't it?” She stepped away from him, shaking her head. “When I wrote to tell my parents no, that I wouldn't marry even though I was ordered to, I broke any ties that meant I could ever go home. They always told me that to sacrifice something for the greater good was the greatest gift anyone could ever give, and that it was an honor to place others before myself. And I have to do it all over again. I have to put the whole world ahead of my own happiness, I can't even hold the man I love without him bruising, and I have to walk away from the only life I've ever known, knowing I'll probably go down in qunari history as the one who let the darkness back in.” Herah took a deep breath, straightening up. “Do you know what the Qun was, to me? Nightmares. It was every time my father woke up screaming, begging them not to take me. It was every time the headwoman would stop mid-sentence and shake, seeing something I never would. It was every time my mother broke a plate and went into hysterics, it was every qamek scar on Shokrakar's face, it was every broken bone healed wrong to teach a lesson, and every time that I was called _saarebas_ instead of my name, because I was just a _thing_ , a dangerous thing that needed a minder that could murder me if I made one wrong move.”

Bull stood silent, past words, and she took one last, shuddering breath.

“And it's every time you take the long way around from your rooms because you can see Hissrad in the yard. It's every moment of terror when you turn around, and I have to wonder what would have happened if I could only see you from the end of a leash and the inside of a mask. It's when people tell me to fulfill my duty, to remember my place, to know my role. And to save the fucking world, I have to take the hand of the people who would see me no better than Tranquil.”

They stood there in silence, Herah's eyes glittering with tears of sorrow and rage, and Bull bowed his head.

“I'm so sorry,” he said lowly, and she shook her head.

“No. What was it you told me once?” Herah said, smiling without any humor. “It is my purpose to do what I can for those I consider important. I'll do it. So, tell me. What are the demands of the Qun?”


	33. Hunger of the Pine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian and Bull have a lot to work through, and don't.

  
**Do not ask for that which you yourself are unwilling to give.**  
**Avvar proverb.**  


oOo

It was late before Bull found his way to Dorian's room. Dorian was dressed for bed, comfortably clothed and tending to the little tree that grew over his bed as the door opened and Bull ducked inside.

“Varric caught me,” he said, walking over to kiss the back of Dorian's neck. “Sorry to take so long. Herah and I were talking and it got kinda heavy.”

“Oh, believe me, I understand.” Dorian turned, grabbing his horn to pull him down for a slow, soft kiss. “I spent most of the evening speaking with my mother.”

“How'd that go?” Bull sat on the bed, and Dorian sat on his lap, much to his surprise.

“Quite well, actually. We had dinner and talked some about what had happened while I've been gone. It was odd, but all's well that ends well, as they say.” Dorian shrugged, and leaned into him. “It's strange, to see her again. I'd quite given up on ever seeing anyone from Tevinter that I knew, let alone my parents. I wonder if my father will try and contact me.”

“Is that likely?”

Dorian shrugged, trailing fingertips over Bull's collarbone. “It's possible, though I'm not certain how probable. But enough about that. I'd rather do something more interesting with my evening than talk about my father.” He made a face and Bull laughed, kissing him quickly. 

“We can definitely do something else. What were you thinking? Chess? Checkers? Wrestling?”

Dorian smiled up at him, leaning up to kiss him, nipping his lip as a bit of a tease. “Wrestling without clothes, perhaps.”

“You know,” Bull said slyly, “we could do what I suggested the other day.”

“Pardon?”

Bull's fingers played with the strings of Dorian's pants, and he grinned at him. “You should fuck me.”

Dorian got up, going to the bedside table and pulling out the bottle of oil to eye it critically. “What do you think? Do we even have enough oil for that to work?”

He tossed the bottle to Bull, who laughed. “More than enough, _kadan_.”

“I think this is going to turn out uncomfortable for both of us,” Dorian said, crossing his arms. Bull grinned at him. “Don't look at me like that. Are you sure?”

Bull put the bottle of oil onto the table by the bed, the light from the lamp making his skin gleam. “If you don't want to, we don't have to, but I want to. We both need to work off some steam. It's been a while, yeah, but like.” Bull gestured at him helplessly. “Fuck, Dorian, you're not exactly hard on the eyes.”

Dorian face went hot. “Well, yes, I _am_ quite gorgeous.”

“Damn right.”

Dorian ran his hands over his head, feeling the short fuzz of hair that was starting to grow back. “So. What are the logistics of...this? I mean, obviously I'm aware of how it works, but, well, you're-” It was his turn to gesture helplessly. “Bull, you're _massive_ and I am but a tiny man in comparison.”

Bull laughed again, standing and walking over to deliberately emphasize the height difference. Dorian scowled up at him. Bull wrapped his hands around Dorian's hips, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against the slight jut of bone, and Dorian sighed softly, pressing into them. Bull knew exactly how to make him melt, the bastard.

“Dorian,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that it was more of a rumble than anything, and Dorian shuddered with need despite his best efforts. “I told you. You don't have to worry, I'm still here and I'll take charge if you need it. You don't have to worry. Remember how we talked about that last time?” When Dorian had nodded, he chuckled. “Good. Go strip.”

Dorian groaned under his breath and stalked over to the corner to start shucking his things off. By the time he was down to his skin Bull was reclining naked on the bed and grinning like he had just won Wicked Grace. Dorian put his hands on his hips, eyeing him suspiciously. “What's with the smile?”

“Just thinking how lucky I am,” Bull said smugly. “That _ass_...”

Dorian replied with a very rude gesture, and Bull laughed, curling a finger at him. Dorian stalked to the bed and climbed on, kneeling by Bull. Bull lazily ran a hand down his leg.

“Should I have a verbal watchword?” Dorian asked uncertainly.

Bull's mouth twisted as he thought about it. “I don't think so. Remember last time you could speak? How you had nonverbal days? Might be better if we stuck to the tapping for now.”

“You'll be able to bind my hands now,” Dorian realized, and beamed. “Oh, I'm looking forward to that.” He leaned down, nipping at Bull's collarbone, and laughed as Bull lifted him bodily so he could straddle his waist. He smiled as Bull grinned fondly up at him, and arched into his touch as he ran his hands down Dorian's sides with enough weight to ground him. He liked having Bull's hands on him. It was something that never got old, feeling all that strength and control banked just to touch him, just to hold him, just to remind him that he was there to serve and be served. To have such power, and to know that he had some measure of control over that power, was breathtaking.

“Bull,” he breathed, shivering, and Bull's smile widened, going a little dark and definitely hungry. 

“Something you need?”

“No,” he said smugly, raking his nails down Bull's chest to watch his pupil blow wide. “I've already got you.”

Bull growled, pulling him down for a bruising kiss that was bone melting in its heat. Dorian grabbed his horns, nipping at his lip sharply to hear him growl, and caught his breath as Bull flipped them abruptly so he was pinned down.

“That's cheating,” he gasped, and Bull laughed wickedly before biting kisses against his neck. Dorian's nails scored down his arms, leaving pale white trails as they went, and Bull bit down hard. Dorian arched up under him, and when Bull pulled back they were both panting. 

“Magic on the table?” Dorian breathed, and Bull nodded. Dorian grinned triumphantly, and _pushed_.

Bull was flung sideways, his back pressing against the wall as he knelt on the bed, and Dorian sat up, moving so that he was in front of him.

“I've changed my mind,” Dorian said, looking him over with hungry eyes. “I _like_ this.” 

Bull licked his lips, straining against the magical binding, and Dorian casually increased the pressure. He could move a bit, but Dorian kept him pinned quite easily. He ran a finger down Bull's chest, smiling fondly, and kissed slowly up his neck. 

“Fucking tease,” Bull chuckled as Dorian lazily ran his fingers down Bull's length, keeping his touch light.

“Oh,” Dorian said mildly, “is that the game we're playing today?”

Bull blanched, and Dorian laughed before snapping the magic free of the wall and letting him tumble back down onto the bed. He grinned, straddling Bull and pushing him down with one charged hand. Bull's breath picked up as Dorian increased the pressure around his hand, and Dorian leaned down to kiss him again, a little more lazy. Bull reached up, hand cupping the back of his neck, and Dorian smiled against his lips as he pulled back just enough to breathe, “So, I get to watch, yes?”

Bull groaned, and Dorian laughed as he climbed off and lounged against the end of the bed.

“You're a fucking tease,” Bull told him again, and Dorian grinned, popping back off the bed to fetch the oil from the drawer he kept it in.

“It's been said.” He handed Bull the oil, and sat back down on the bed. Bull wholeheartedly enjoyed watching him prepare himself, and Dorian wondered if he'd feel the same.

The answer, in fact, was yes. Dorian had never been on the other end of sex. Even in Tevinter (especially in Tevinter), he'd always been the one ordered to debase himself for those who were more “correct”. There were a great many men that he'd slept with who refused to take the woman's role, as it was called, but Dorian had simply rolled his eyes and gone with it. If they didn't want to experience the pure shock of pleasure, fine by him. But watching Bull suddenly made him wish that he'd been able to watch before, because _Maker_ , what a sight.

“You're glorious,” he breathed, and Bull let out a breathless little chuckle that warped into a moan as he slid a second finger in. He had such _long_ fingers, a fact Dorian had greatly appreciated on more than one occasion, and Dorian slid forward on the bed to watch closer.

“Like the view?” Bull asked, already sounding a little fucked out.

“Stunning,” Dorian breathed.

“One more and I should be good,” Bull said, head thumping back onto Dorian's pillow. “Normally I'd just say two and go with it but it's been a long time.”

Dorian leaned down to kiss along the softer skin inside his thighs, feeling the muscle as he slid further down. “And here we could have been doing this for months.” He lowered his head, and Bull growled as he teasingly licked just the very top of his cock with a feather soft tongue. 

“Dorian...”

“Shhhh,” Dorian breathed, and Bull's free hand grabbed the sheets, tearing them a little. He licked his lips rather theatrically, and dipped his head again.

At some point, objectively, Dorian was willing to admit that he was what was commonly referred to as a “size queen”, though he'd never quite understood the term. He liked his men large, as the frankly alarming collection of terrible pornography he had collected in Tevinter would be willing to attest to, and he enjoyed letting those men know just how much he liked them. He'd hated the orders from his owners to lave attention on them, but when he was willing he had an excellent time of it. And Bull was well worth the attention. For one thing, he was massive, and for another, Dorian actually liked him. 

Dorian pressed tiny, delicate kisses along the length of him, his tongue darting out to taste ever so often, and he smiled at the sounds Bull made as he went. This, here, safe with someone he loved, this was the sort of thing he loved the most. He lapped across the broad, leaking head, and grinned at the sound of his sheets ripping once again. He could mend them later.

“I'm ready,” Bull said raggedly, and with one last lick along his cock Dorian sat up. Bull was flushed already, his skin slightly purple from it along his chest and up his cheeks.

“I love it when you look like that,” Dorian mused, and took the oil from him. He was generous as he slicked himself up, and Bull tossed him a rag once he'd cleaned off his own hand. Dorian nodded, and settled in front of him, fingernails running down his thighs and leaving thin white scratches that had Bull growling.

“You're sure?” Dorian asked, sudden nerves betraying him. Bull took his hand, squeezing gently. 

“I'm sure. Just go slow, take your time. It's a little overwhelming at first.”

Dorian bit his lip, resting his free hand on Bull's stomach. “And you'll promise to tell me if anything hurts, at all? I've done this quite a bit, Bull, I know that if done wrong this is excruciating.”

Bull's eye softened, and he lifted Dorian's hand to kiss his knuckles. “I promise. You're not those men, Dorian. You never have been, and you never will be. I might be uncomfortable, but if it's actually painful I promise I'll let you know immediately.”

Dorian took a slow breath and nodded, bending down to kiss him once again. “Your faith in me is remarkable, and I'm grateful. Please forgive me if this winds up being truly terrible sex, because I believe this is likely to be over very fast, if I had to guess.”

Bull nodded somberly, despite the tiny twitch of a smile around his mouth. “That's just fine.”

Dorian took a steadying breath, squeezing Bull's hand, and slowly began to press inside.

His fingers dug in after a moment, and he caught his breath. It was hard to say which was more overwhelming, the heat or the pressure, and Bull reached up to grab the headboard. Dorian grabbed Bull's hip, doing his best to keep an eye on his face for any pain as he tried to control himself. Bull looked like the image of ecstasy, eye closed and his expression blissed out, and Dorian let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It felt like hours until he was fully within him, and by the end both of them were breathing hard. 

“Fuck,” Bull managed, and Dorian laughed helplessly in agreement.

“Are- are you good?” he asked, and Bull nodded rapidly, shifting his hips. Dorian groaned, and Bull chuckled darkly. 

“Come on, _kadan_.”

Dorian grinned at him and began the slow, careful slide back and forth, looking to find a comfortable rhythm. He'd just gotten settled and was doing his absolute damnedest not to come when Bull shouted, cock jerking.

“Ah,” Dorian said breathlessly. “ _There_ you are.”

There was something to be said for years of bottoming, after all. He kept the angle as best he could and held Bull's hand tightly, the pair of them gasping as Dorian did his best to keep the rhythm but up the speed. Judging by the noise Bull was making, he was succeeding. Bull reached up, grabbing his neck and pulling him down for a kiss that was more teeth than anything and Dorian gasped into his mouth, the pair of them sharing air as the bed frame shook. Bull was growling something in Qunlat, by the sound of it utterly filthy, and Dorian couldn't help kissing the words out of his mouth before dipping his head to sink his teeth into the meat of Bull's neck. Bull came with a shout of surprise, and Dorian followed moments after, giving up his control. He came so hard his vision whited out, and he immediately collapsed on top of him, breathing hard.

They lay together a moment, and Bull laughed a moment before saying, with feeling, “ _Damn_.”

Dorian pulled out gently, his arms shaking, and promptly collapsed off to Bull's side. Bull chuckled, scooping him up in one arm and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Dorian groaned, grinning as he curled into him. 

“Well?”

Dorian laughed breathlessly. “That was... that was amazing. And very different. But wonderful. Thank you for letting me come faster than I have since I was a teenager.”

Bull laughed, leaning over to kiss him slow and sweet. “It's not very often I want to get fucked, but believe me, it was well worth it. Glad you liked it.”

Dorian caught his lips again, hand resting over his heart to feel it thud beneath his palm. “Might we do that again some time?”

“Yeah,” Bull said fondly, “I think we might.”

oOo

Morning came far too early, and both Dorian and Bull woke to the sound of a hawk disemboweling something outside Dorian's window.

“Ugh,” Dorian growled, burying his face in Bull's chest. “I loathe nature and everything in it.”

Bull made a face and reached up, flipping the shutters closed. It wasn't perfect, but it helped some. “Sometimes I feel the same.”

“I suppose we should get up,” Dorian said reluctantly, and Bull rolled a bit to let him out of bed. He picked up his things, making a face at the state of one of his shirts, and began folding it back up. After a moment, Bull rose as well and they began the usual morning routine. Teeth, shaving, ducking around each other as clothes were grabbed, followed by Dorian helping Bull adjust his harness and Bull opening the sky light for fresh air to come in, it was a familiar dance. Bull sat down on the bed to pull on his boots as Dorian wrangled himself into breeches. After literal years of wearing such loose clothes, tight pants were quite a change- but welcome, none the less.

“There's something I need to tell you,” Bull said, and Dorian smiled as he did up the laces of the pants. 

“Yes? Are you planning to extol my virtues?”

Bull didn't smile. “The Qun's offered an alliance with the Inquisition. It'd be the first of its kind if both sides agree. They're going to test Herah to see if she's worth it, out on the Storm Coast a week from now. It's a dreadnaught run. Short, should be easy enough. She just wants the Chargers and two of the other Inner Circle. I think she's bringing Vivienne and Cassandra.” 

“Oh, very well,” Dorian said, pulling his shirt over his head to hide the face he made. The _Qun_ wanted an alliance? Nonsense. But at least he would be there to keep an eye on them when it came to Herah. He adjusted his shirt, grabbing his belt and buckling it. “You know how much I loathe the Storm Coast, but for you-”

“You're not coming.”

Dorian froze, feeling as if the air had just been punched out of him. Slowly, he turned back around to face Bull. Bull watched him from his place on the bed, his face set. “Excuse me?” 

“You're not coming,” Bull repeated, rising. “It's too risky. I don't want the Qun to catch even a whiff of us.”

“Is this all I am, now?” Dorian demanded, gesturing between them. “Is this it? I'm to be your dirty little secret that you hide away from the Qun? I may have promised to let you go, but that was a long time ago and we are _not_ the same people now that we were then, Bull, and you know it. How do you plan to keep me hidden away? Am I to be tucked into some little corner of Ferelden, and you'll visit me when you aren't being hounded to the ends of Thedas on missions? I've been the other man before, Bull. I've spent literal years being shoved into closets and basements, hidden away. Don't you _dare_ treat me like they did. How do you plan to keep this up?”

“We'll figure it out,” Bull said, somewhat desperate. “I can't just leave. You don't-” He grabbed his head, taking a steadying breath as his heart pounded and his head swam with old memories. “You don't know what it means, leaving the Qun. I'll go mad.”

Dorian threw his hands in the air, and pointed out the window. “What, like the Valo-kas are mad? Like Herah's mad? Because-”

Bull's head jerked up, and Dorian actually took a step back at the sight of his bared teeth and wild eye. “They aren't Reavers!” he snarled. “They aren't me. They never watched kids be burned alive, or their friends be butchered, they never got fucking held down and had to watch as their team was eviscerated one by one, _alive_. They ripped him open in front of me, he was still alive when they spilled his stomach out on me. I've gone mad before, Dorian. It's why I was reeducated in the first place. If it was so easy to just leave, don't you think I'd have left already?” He stood up, striding forward, and grabbed Dorian's shoulders. Dorian didn't even flinch, looking up at him with hard eyes.

“Take your hands off of me,” Dorian said quietly, and Bull blinked, slowly letting go before stepping back.

“You've never seen me angry,” Bull said, his voice just as soft and five times as dangerous. “You don't know how close I came to killing when I found out you and Krem had been taken. I try not to be a murderer, but it's not easy some days. I haven't been a good man.”

Dorian pursed his lips. “If you think for one moment that they won't try and take Herah, you're wrong. They're not going to just make an alliance and leave.”

“She's too powerful to just be collared,” Bull said, shaking his head, and Dorian's eyes went wild with rage. Reaching over, he grabbed his knife from the desk and threw it. It froze in mid air, the point just before Bull's chest.

“I _invented_ time magic,” Dorian said, hand held out. “I can stop time with a thought, I can raise the dead and call them to battle, I fight off demons that want to feed on me every night, and I was collared for years. Don't you _dare_ tell me that anyone is too powerful to be collared. Herah would be taken, her tongue cut out, and she would be used as a slave in all but name. Collar, cuffs, masked, owned and forced to obey whatever orders she was given? I know slavery when I see it. They would use her as a weapon, and you know it.”

They stood, staring at each other, Dorian's chest heaving and his hands shaking with anger and no small amount of fear. Bull unclenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe.

“Even if they do,” he said, his voice carefully even, “no one is going to take her away. She has the entire world watching her, and she'd be taken back in a heartbeat. And you are not coming to the Storm Coast. We can't risk it.”

Dorian flicked his fingers and the knife flew away to clatter against the wall. “I'm not a child that needs protecting, Bull. I don't want to hide who I am. You had better figure out where you and I stand when it comes to the Qun, because if we're ending this, don't string me along.” His voice shook at the end. “If- if this is the end for us, have enough mercy to make it quick.”

The silence stretched between them, and finally Bull said quietly, “I don't know yet. I don't know what to do. But maybe we should take a break. Take some time to ourselves, figure out what we want out of this.” He gestured between them. “I don't think either of us have it together enough to say where we're going, or what we'll do whenever we get there. So... maybe we should end this for now. Until we know.”

Dorian swallowed hard, looking away. “Very well.”

“Dorian...”

He held up his hand, closing his eyes. “Don't. Just- just go. I'll come to you when I'm ready, and not before.”

Silence, and then Bull quietly went to the door. Dorian didn't open his eyes, unable to bear to watch him go.

“I'll always love you,” Bull said quietly, and left. 

The door clicked shut and Dorian fell to his knees, a sob ripping out of his throat.

oOo

It was noon when Aquinea stepped into the tavern. The buzz of people speaking over lunch went still for a moment, taking in the woman in that days dress, cream silk trimmed with maroon brocade. She ignored them for the most part, scanning through the room until she caught the eye of a man in armor, seated in the corner. She strode over to him, considering him thoughtfully as he rose smoothly to his feet and bowed politely.

“My lady,” he said in accented Common. Vyrantium raised, it seemed. “How can Cremisius Aclassi serve you?”

Ah, very well done. This way they were both clear of having to be introduced, if he offered his name. She hid her smile, flicking her fan up to obscure the lower half of her face, as would be expected while speaking to a soporati. “I, Aquinea Thalrassian, would know if you are the Cremisius Aclassi of the Bull's Chargers, lieutenant therein.”

“I am, my lady.” He inclined his head, the image of an orderly young soldier. And he most certainly was young- she would put him in his early twenties, not more than twenty-five.

“I would have you introduce me to the Captain of your company, Lieutenant Aclassi.” Aquinea wafted her fan, wishing she had left her hair down rather than piling it into the coiled bun braid on her head. The weight was annoying, though having it up meant less care had to be taken while riding. The impression it gave was vastly different, and she was vexed.

“If my lady would follow me?” Cremisius bowed, and led her forward.

The Iron Bull had been watching all of this from his seat, and Aquinea was well aware of it. He'd chosen his seat carefully, slightly hidden away but in an area that allowed him easy access to the entirety of the room. She flicked her fan shut, meeting him eye to eye as Cremisius announced, “Lady Aquinea Thalrassian, The Iron Bull.”

The Iron Bull rose in a smooth display of grace and muscle, and Aquinea spent a moment despairing that her son had such predictable tastes. She offered her hand, face perfectly smooth, and to her pleased surprise he matched her expression perfectly, his face like frosted glass. His lips brushed her knuckles, polite but not lingering, and she nodded her thanks to Cremisius as he brought her his chair. Aquinea arranged herself on it, smoothing out her skirts and resting her fan in her lap as The Iron Bull sat once again, more attentive than sprawling. She flicked her eyes to Cremisius, and after a moments hesitation he stepped away, just out of immediate earshot but still able to see them.

“Dorian told me you were here,” The Iron Bull said, his tone mild, “but I didn't expect you to come to see me.”

Aquinea shrugged one shoulder. “I owe you a debt of deep gratitude. All of House Pavus does. While my esteemed husband sits in the Senate, I _am_ House Pavus, and I would speak to the man who saved my son.”

There was a flicker of emotion on the otherwise still face, and Aquinea flicked up her fan to compose herself again.

The Iron Bull said, quietly, “I was only doing what anyone should have done.”

Aquinea lowered the fan, smiling wryly. “And yet, anyone did not. What gift would you have House Pavus give, to repay the debt that we owe you? I am told it would be rude to offer triple the price that you paid for him, though such a thing is customary, and to repay the gifts of gear and work you have put in to keep him whole and sane. A benefaction? Political maneuvering?”

This time his mask fully cracked, and anger seeped through, just enough for her to see. She smiled, sitting back in her chair.

“Good,” she said, and he blinked. “I would prefer the man my son loves to truly be interested in him, and not in what he represents.”

He considered her for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “You think he loves me.”

“I know he does,” Aquinea said, looking at him a little closer. “He spoke only of how much he loved you over our dinner. I take it that you fought.”

“Yeeeah.” He drawled out the word, his mouth tightening. “It wasn't the kind that can just get swept under the rug, either. Our relationship might be done, now.”

Aquinea's smile was a little bitter, and she stroked the soft silk of her fan. “The Pavus men have always had hot tempers, and do not bend in even the most ferocious of flames. I was the youngest of five, a rarity in Tevinter. There was an heir, a spare, and three other pawns to move. Halward's grandfather had disgraced the family, but the bloodline was impeccable, and any child I bore by them would be considered well worth the bride price. He was a cheap betrothal, my dowry was fairly small, and at 18 I married him. Halward is a passionate, yet rather sexless man. He was never violent, never struck me or anyone else in the household, but he was a nightmare in the dueling arena. He challenged often, and by the time I was pregnant with Dorian at 20 years old, he had killed four magisters. He was wildly powerful, and clawed his way up the senate with nothing more than brute force and determination. Now, he advises the Archon, with no less than 14 confirmed kills on his hands.” She could feel how the blades of the fan dug into her palm where she clutched it, and she looked back up at The Iron Bull. 

“You must understand, I firmly believed my son slaughtered,” she said. “I returned home to find the slaves mopping up blood, Halward washing it from his arms. I never dreamed that he'd escaped- I knew, with every fiber of my being, that Halward had murdered his only child. The Pavus men are notoriously near sterile, the children powerful in magic but weak otherwise, and I miscarried at least six. There was no other to take Dorian's place, and Halward had both treated him like glass and demanded he be perfect. When Dorian wouldn't obey his orders to marry, I believed that he had snapped and killed him.”

The Iron Bull rubbed the back of his head, eyes downcast. “He doesn't talk about Tevinter much.”

“I cannot blame him.” Aquinea sighed. “Tevinter has done very little for him. I know he loves her still, but I cannot say whether or not he will, or can ever, return.” She tapped her fan against her hand. “If you think that your relationship is ended, at least do him the courtesy of treating him honorably. I know that some times, love is not enough, even when it seems to consume you entirely.” Aquinea stood, and The Iron Bull rose with her.

“I'll remember that, ma'am.”

“Thank you.” She inclined her head to him. “I take my leave to return to Tevinter. Take care of my son, The Iron Bull, whether he wants you to or not.”

“I will,” he said quietly, and she nodded once more and left the Tavern. 

It was a bright, clear day outside, and she took a deep, bracing breath of the chill mountain air. Her escorts were waiting by the stairs that led down to the lower courtyard, and she made her way towards them only to be stopped by a man in an enormous red coat.

“Lady Thalrassian?”

“Yes?” She eyed him suspiciously, and he flushed.

“I'm Commander Cullen Rutherford, and a friend of Dorian's. I just wanted to thank you for making the trip- I know it means a great deal to him.”

He looked like one of her slaves. Pretty, blonde, with hair that was likely quite curly under all the product on it, a fair complexion and a strong jaw, he was utterly Fereldan. She had picked him out of the lot of slaves freshly bought for the household. He'd been intended to work in the stables in the Asariel house as he had some experience with horses. Instead she brought him to her rooms. He had been afraid at first, shaking whenever she touched him, and uncertain as to why she had him bathed and his hair trimmed, his nails cleaned and buffed, and given him fine new clothing. She pampered him, treated him more like a pet than anything else, and it hadn't taken him long to learn his purpose in pleasing her. 

She had done to a man just like this one what others had done to her son.

“Of course,” she said faintly, striving to not be sick. “I- I'm afraid I must leave now. The road will be long.”

“If you'd like, I could send a company to go with you?” Commander Rutherford said, still smiling.

“No,” she said, smiling through the roiling of her stomach. “It will be easier to travel light. Thank you for your kindness.”

She inclined her head to him and it was only years of training that kept her from running to her guards. 

There was much to rectify in Tevinter, starting with her own household.

oOo

Because he had promised, and because Dorian had never quite dared to disobey his mother, he stood at the gate outside of Skyhold and did his best not to cry.

He'd taken the long way around from his room, avoiding people as much as he could, and ducked down the kitchen stairs before slipping through the gate to wait on the bridge. The Valo-kas had been congregated in the kitchen, harassing the cook for treats, but had let him pass without incident. Just as well, because he had no idea what he would say if they had asked what was wrong. _Ah, yes, it's no matter. I've simply been cast off like an old boot because I said I wouldn't be a secret._

The sensible thing to do would be to go crawling back, beg forgiveness, and take whatever punishment Bull gave. Bull had never hurt him before, and even this morning he'd mostly just startled him, but Dorian wasn't an idiot. Anger was surely simmering in him, and he knew that Bull liked flogging when he could, though he'd never taken the vicious looking leather to Dorian. Perhaps if he offered up himself with careful application of false submission, he could have Bull flog him to release that anger without any further damage to himself. But he'd been whipped before, and whippings were agonizing and far from pleasant. Could he fake interest in it well enough to-

“Woolgathering?”

“As if I'd ever do something so plebian,” Dorian said automatically, snapping back to the present. Aquinea stood beside him, one hand on the reins of her horse. Dorian's heart ached just looking at the pretty grey mare. She was one of Zahir's, from a match with Halward's favorite hunter. Zahir had been a present upon his graduation, and Dorian had loved her dearly. “You're ready to leave, then?”

“We are.” She nodded imperiously to the guards and they trotted further down to the drawbridge. She waited until they were out of earshot to say, “I spoke with The Iron Bull.”

Just his very name made Dorian's heart twist a little. “Oh?”

The wind whipped at a few strands of loose hair, and she tucked them behind her ear. “A good man, for a Qunari. Though he tells me that you have fought, and perhaps ended things.”

Dorian sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. “It's complicated.”

“It always is.” Aquinea looked out over the great gaping maw of the valley, her eyes seeing something that wasn't there. “For what it's worth, you _will_ get your request. The work will be slow, but I will see to it that the slaves are freed. I... Well. There are things that must be rectified, and I will see to it that they are completed. Hang Halward and the Magesterium. I will do what I can to fix this mess. When you come home, it will be somewhere safe, and somewhere you aren't waited on by the hands of those you once numbered among the ranks of.”

Dorian simply nodded, too overcome with relief to speak. Aquinea nodded once, and climbed up into the saddle. A cloak was procured from a bag, and swung onto her shoulders. 

“Write to me, when you can,” she said stiffly, pulling on her riding gloves. “And, my dear?”

“Yes?” Dorian said, clearing his throat.

Aquinea graced him with a small smile. “Wreak havoc with grace. You are, after all, my son.”

Dorian couldn't quite hide his smile, bowing politely. “I shall endeavor to, my lady mother.”

Aquinea clicked her tongue and trotted away, rejoining her guards. Dorian watched them go from the bridge, following the four little dots of color until they vanished into the pass out of the mountains, and then turned to walk back into the quiet comfort of Skyhold's walls. Perhaps it was time to practice his lock picking skills on Herah's wine closet.


	34. The Last Resort of Good Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy.  
> Seven month later and I think I'm finally alright with this chapter. This is... This is an intensely personal chapter. This was an intensely hard chapter to write. It is not happy.  
> But it is hopeful, by the end, and that is the most important part.
> 
> Written almost exclusively to "Believer" by Imagine Dragons, which is the suggested listening for this chapter.
> 
> TW for: Everything that Dorian has ever gone through, including discussions/mentions of: rape, slavery, torture, starvation, physical and emotional abuse, familial abuse, slavery.

**Under rock and tree, under marble slab, sleep soft, my love.**  
**Sleep soft.**

**From “Song of Nanenya”, a Tevinter slave song.**

oOo

Herah caught him with his hands full of bottles as he painstakingly went through the best of her collection, and didn't even seem to notice. Her face was screwed up in anger as she stalked into the wine cellar, hair out of its braids in a halo around her head. She shoved a letter at him, hand shaking with fury. “Look at this.”

Dorian reluctantly put the bottles down and took the letter, frowning when he saw the Pavus crest on it. “What...”

“Mother Giselle received it this morning,” Herah said tightly, “and brought it to me. It's from your father.”

Dorian went still a moment before ripping it open and pulling out the paper. Shockingly, it was Halward's own hand, not a scribes. Halward had suffered a nasty burn during a duel once, and since then his hand had never been right. Writing was difficult for him, and he preferred to dictate to a scribe. It would have been agonizing to write, but write he had, and Dorian's heart went cold at just the sight of those scrawled letters. It was as if he were ten again, his father writing to chide him for this or that.

He skimmed through the letter, old hurt seeping up with every word. They blurred together, but a few stuck out. “I know my son?” 

Dorian flung the letter aside, struggling not to start screaming in anger. “What does he know of me? He hasn't seen me in nearly eight years. And he wants me to meet with a retainer in Redcliffe. Probably so that the ass can knock me over the head and drag me home so he can finish what he started.” He ran a hand over his head, struggling to keep his voice steady. “What utter nonsense. I can't believe that he would think I'd forgive him.”

“I'll kill him if you want,” Herah said, deadly serious.

“No,” Dorian growled, taking a deep breath. “No- let me think about this. You have other things, I will reflect on this.”

Herah hesitated before opening her arms, and Dorian hugged her tight. She rubbed his back, deflating a little as they stood together. 

“For what it's worth,” she said quietly, “I'm sorry.”

“Just pardon me when Jospehine finds out I stole the wine and the good whiskey,” Dorian tried to joke, but it fell flat.

“Already done,” Herah said quietly, knocking their heads together. “Come on, I'll share a bottle with you before we have to go.”

oOo

Alcohol.

Lots of it.

Dorian knew, vaguely, that it had probably been too much to take without needing to pay it back, but he was past the point of caring and Herah had already agreed so what did he care?

He was just like Teo. Drinking heavy when no one looked, so when the boys were in bed and Capheus would knock her around it didn't hurt so much. He hit her so much, all the time. And then he would turn around, be so gentle with him. Dorian would distract him, sometimes, when he could. Soft touches, plying him to bed, making his eyes big and soft and whispering about how he couldn't sleep without him there. Capheus was skin greedy, and always stroked his arms, torso, stomach. He never could get his fill of skin.

Teo, Theodora, she was so pretty. Beautiful, really, like Cassandra. She had eyes like crystallized honey, and a warm mouth always darkened to plum. She was small, delicate boned, and Capheus could hold both of her wrists in one hand. She would cry, kohl smearing on her cheeks, and he always smiled. Greedy, always greedy, watching her suffer. Poor Phelan had seen it, sometimes, when Dorian couldn't get him away. He hoped it hadn't hurt him too much.

Dorian took another drink, deep. Ferelden something, this time. Fabulous, honestly.

Capheus' face had turned plum too, when Dorian had killed him. It hadn't taken much. He'd been on top of him when it happened, Capheus holding his collar, and he just reached out, pressing his fingers just above the heart. One bolt of lightning, exactly the amount that his collar allowed, and he'd died. Dorian wished sometimes that he'd been able to strangle him instead.

Teo helped him bury the body, her mouth still bleeding from where Capheus had punched her. Hours later, Dorian had held Des while Novus curled up next to him on the couch and Phelan played with his blocks on the floor. He'd thought they might be safe. That he would be able to keep his boys, who he loved so much, his precious children. He loved them so much it was beyond understanding. But then _he_ came, and stole them away to that great stone house. He'd not recognized Dorian, with his long hair and beard, even though Dorian had spoken to him many times. Magister Atellian, he was called. A cold man, a cruel man, and one desperately interested in Teo. Atellian had seen him as a threat, and sold him away in the night.

“I'll come back,” Dorian told the room, voice cracking in the silence. 

The room didn't respond, and he closed his eyes.

The knock on the door was like a punch to the chest, but he didn't get up. “Go away,” he called. “I'm not here.”

Instead, the door opened. Krem stepped in, looking irritated. “Why aren't you out with the team? We're almost ready to go- holy shit, how much have you had?”

Dorian shrugged one shoulder. “Not enough, I promise you. And haven't you heard? I'm not allowed to go.”

“ _What_?”

Dorian smiled mirthlessly, raising the bottle to him. “Not going. You can talk to Bull about that one.” He took a long swig, and grinned mirthlessly. “We've had a philosophical debate and decided to settle it by being angry at each other. You can take him-” he gestured a little wildly, and Krem narrowly caught the bottle before it crashed into the wall, “Sorry, you can take him and tell him to shove his bloody Qun where I can't see. Maker taken voidscape, the lot of it. I've seen enough slavery in my life to know that a collar's a collar. And no one gets out of those goddamn collars. Herah's too pretty, too strong. They'd stitch up her head and cover her eyes and slap her in enough leathers to drown her, and they'd shave off that head so she had no braids, only suffering.”

He let his head fall back against the back of the chair. “No one is too strong,” he said quietly. “No one.”

Krem was frozen, bottle clutched in his hand.

“This is shit,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous.

“Well obviously,” Dorian said, trying for snobbish. “It's Orlesian, what do you expect?”

Krem set the bottle down with deliberate gentleness, fussing a bit with the candlestick on the table before taking a slow breath to physically calm himself. Dorian watched with vague interest. “All right. So, you're not going.”

“Corr-ect,” Dorian drawled.

Krem took a slow breath, and carefully adjusted his shirt. “Right. When I get home, we're going to have a long talk, you and I.”

“I do enjoy our little talks, amicus,” Dorian said, taking the bottle back. “Tell the Qun to fuck itself and Bull that he can just as much fun fucking himself.”

“Oh, don't worry, I will,” Krem said darkly.

Dorian took his hand, kissing his knuckles. “Truly a marvelous gift, my friend. You are far too good for Rylen.”

“Flattery will get you nothing,” Krem said, but there was a smile fluttering on his lips. Dorian managed a smile too, squeezing his hand. “It won't be right without you.”

Dorian shrugged, looking away to hide his hurt. “Well, you'll just have to beat everyone especially well for me.”

“Definitely.” Krem bent down and kissed his forehead. “Don't die while I'm gone, brother of mine.”

Dorian let his hand go and sketched a lazy salute. Krem took one last look at him and reluctantly left, closing the door quietly behind him. Dorian immediately went back to the bottle, looking at the paper on the table, the blood red seal burning into his eyes. He took another drink, feeling the burn in his throat, and listened to the crackle of the fire as he watched the paper. It sat there in silent menace until he took it back, flicking it open.

_I will be in Redcliffe Village for a month in the hopes you will come. I will be staying at the Gull and Lantern under the Pavus name._

“Probably rented the whole damn place out, even,” Dorian muttered. He tapped the paper against his leg, and made a decision.

oOo

It was easy to leave.

Blackwall was out for the night, Harrit as well. Princess was curled alone in her stall, and rose without commotion to be saddled. He packed only what he needed the most, dressing in his plainest clothes and thickest cloak after a very thorough healing spell that flushed the alcohol from his system. He took Felix's Arlathan Heart, tucking it under his shirt, and his bedroll went on the saddle behind him. Food he would get along the way. Felix had been asleep when he crept up the stairs, and he'd left the letter in his hand.

The gate guards let him through without question, the warhammer emblazoned on his saddle enough to let him by and the crown over the inquisition sigil a sign of his personal affiliation with the Inquisitor.

He'd grown used to the bitterness of a desert night, not the frigid nightmare of ice. They made good time through the pass, Princess feather light over the snow thanks to their lack of gear. As the full moon rose, they emerged from the pass and into Ferelden territory. At the head of the pass a Ferelden retinue was camped, and the guards stirred as Princess hissed at them. Dorian noted with a detached sort of recognition that had he been trying, he could have killed them with ease. The inquisition mark on Princess' bridle had them backing down, and to his amusement they actually saluted as he passed. He didn't return it, simply nudged Princess into her long, loping run towards the road that lead to the ruins of Haven.

oOo

50 minutes later, a lanky piebald gelding trotted into the Ferelden camp, ears pricked up and without a care in the world. Segrun nudged his snoozing partner.

“Hey, lookit.”

The gelding looked around with great interest, as did his rider. The gelding had no bridle or saddle, only a blanket and band, and seemed quite happy about this. His rider sat like a lump of confused potatoes on his back, and blinked wide eyes at Segrun.

Voggit jolted awake with a grunt, and peered over at the horse. “What in the Maker's name-”

“I'm sorry,” the boy on the horse said apologetically, “we didn't think he'd be so fast.” He turned his head, and snow dislodged from his massive hat to fall on his shoulders. “He must be running, now.”

“Er,” Segrun managed, as Voggit made a faint noise of confusion. “You've got a little- some snow, on your shoulders, like.”

“Oh.” The boy brushed it off, watching with interest as it fell to the snowy ground. “There's always so _much_. I should go.”

“Right,” Segrun said, watching as the piebald delicately snagged an apple core from where it had landed near a sleeping hand. “You ah. You do that, ser.”

The boy smiled, awkward but warm. “Philomena is very happy,” he said. “They'll be married, come this spring.”

Segrun gaped at him, and the boy and piebald went loping off behind the strange lizard thing.

Voggit waited until he was out of sight to say, “Seg, I didn't know you had a girl.”

“You never know, with Phi,” Segrun said faintly. “They're not big on whether they're a girl or a boy. Philip or Philomena, depends on the day- I wonder if it's that bloody stupid blacksmith's boy, ooh, better not be.”

“Why not just go with Philipa?”

“They liked Philomena better, Vog, shut up and find me some parchment for to write my family!”

“But what if they want to marry that Carwen boy you're always griping about?”

“Vog!”

oOo

Haven was just as horrific in the stark darkness as it was in the day. Dorian paused long enough to offer his respects to the dead at the shrine built for them, and to pray over the small shrine set aside for the Chargers. Regardless of his feelings for Bull at the moment, the Chargers were the only family he had left. He felt the loss of them still. All told sixteen Chargers had died at Haven, and another four on the way to Skyhold. Their names were engraved on a stone near the entrance, where once they had camped. Dorian ran his fingers over each name, old grief riddling his heart.

Here was tiny, furious Amenita that Bull had named Thorn. Here was Nanette, a soft spoken, heavy eyed woman who sang like an angel and a talent for daggers. Gripe, Rocky's closest friend, another exile from Orzammar and a slick flirt. Halla, a widower who rarely spoke and could stop Bull's charge without a flinch. And here- all of Hammerjaw's team, all dead. 

Dorian rose and looked back at the ruins of the Chantry. Wind whipped up a flurry of snow, sounding the remains of a bell in the darkness. He shivered, pulling his cloak in closer. The veil was thin here and the echoes of the dead always resonated harder with necromancers. He could feel the dead beneath the snow, the remnants of red lyrium bred monstrosities rotting into the ground. The memories of his friends tugged inside his mind, the eternal tragedy of the necromancer; he could bring back the body, but never the soul.

Shaking his head, he swung back into the saddle. It was never wise for necromancers to sleep near the restless dead. Princess huffed and let out a familiar cry, tossing her head as she scented the air. He looked back to the gate, memories filling him of the nights spent in the tent beside the doors, the soldiers training, Felix calling wild power to his hands and the tonfas flashing by the lake, laundry on his hip as he walked with Cullen to spend some time being a regular man. The stars above the mountains gleamed, reflecting on the silent ice of the lake.

“Come on, Princess,” he said quietly, his voice creaking as if it had been years since he spoke. “Let's go.”

Princess swished her bit of a tail, hissing out into the cold air as she trotted down familiar roads, passing the destroyed blacksmith's shop and heading for the repaired bridge. The gates were forever open, and Dorian shivered as they passed beyond the memories of tragedy and into the immovable silence of the mountains. He clicked to Princess and she easily fell into a long lope, tireless. Dorian pulled a scarf over his face, and braced into the wind. There was far yet to go.

oOo

The piebald gelding and his rider arrived there a while later, gusting through as if made of the same cold mountain wind that had stirred up.

oOo

Dorian bathed in Lake Luthias at dawn, shivering in the icy Ferelden morning. At least it was warmer than it had been at Haven. Here, at least, he didn't have to crack the iced over bowl to run a rag over himself. Compared to Skyhold it was practically balmy, and he took a moment to mourn the eternal loss of true heat as he scrubbed off with sand and then the rag he'd brought with him. His long knives sat on the bank nearby, within easy reach in the event of necessity. He had the sinking suspicion that he was always going be a bit paranoid about lakes and rivers for the rest of his life. Almost without thinking, he started to scan the water for his breakfast. A fat trout sleepy with the morning chill had the misfortune of swimming past, and with one quick move Dorian grabbed it and tossed it onto the dock before going back to scrubbing.

Once the sweat and grime of the road was off he rose out of the water, shaking himself off without a care. It was a fairly warm morning, and it wasn't as if there was anyone around. He turned to look at his camp next to Blackwall's old hut to find a pair of eyes staring at him.

Cole sat crouched by the fire, and Dorian stared for a long moment before sighing and sitting on his bedroll and reaching for his clothes. Modesty was something that happened to other people, he reflected with some exasperation. “When did you get here?”

Cole looked up from under his hat, large eyes blinking owlishly. “A bit ago. He's very quick, he likes to run.” He nodded at the piebald horse calmly eating some of the grass beside the lakeside. Princess was watching him with deep suspicion. “He wanted to run and so we ran.”

Dorian sighed, noticing the fish on one of the warmed rocks around the fire, clearly retrieved by Cole. He fetched out his filet knife. “But of course.”

Cole poked at the fire, the light reflecting in his eyes. “You know about small spaces,” he said. “Trapped, caught tight, breath failing, why won't they let me out, _please_ let me out, so hungry all the time.”

Dorian carefully put the filet knife down, his stomach blessedly empty. Had there been anything in it, he might have lost it just from the sheer nightmare of the reminder. “I'll thank you not to talk about my memories.”

“Not yours,” Cole said, very softly, letting his stick drop. He curled up, hugging his legs tight to him.

Dorian's breath caught in his throat. “...yours. Who did that to you?”

“Not to me,” Cole said, resting his cheek on his knees. “The real Cole. We found him, when you weren't here, we found him and I could have killed him, he was so _cruel_ , but I didn't and I can't _stop_ , everything wells up under me and drowns me. But it didn't happen to me, it happened to Cole. They locked him up tight and they forgot.”

Dorian's throat stuck at the memory of his own starvation. “I'm sorry, Cole.”

“I don't want anyone to ever be like that ever again,” Cole said firmly, blink owlish eyes at him. “Never ever.”

“Neither do I,” Dorian sighed. “How about we fetch some meat for the refugees before we leave?”

Cole perked up, and Dorian couldn't help smiling.

oOo

They arrived in Redcliffe Village around noon, just in time for the market to truly hit full swing. There was a wedding happening at the Chantry, the fishers were calling to each other at the lake dock, and the eternal hustle and bustle of small town life carried on regardless. It was amazing, Dorian reflected as they rode in, that life simply went on even with demons, Corypheus, and the Red Templars running about. If there was one constant in life, it was that it went on no matter what the situation. He and Cole made their way towards the tavern, and Dorian didn't miss a few rough looking men watching them with narrowed eyes before slipping away.

They found a good place for the mounts and dismounted. Princess immediately curled up and went to sleep, and the piebald placidly began grazing.

“How many?” Dorian asked, pulling the staff off his back. Cole blinked, silvery eyes shining in the mottled shade of the trees. Redcliffe village seemed far away, as if the bustling scene before them was happening to someone else. His heart was beginning to pound as the reality hit him.

“Six,” Cole said at last. “They know we're here. _Why am I here, so cold in this stupid room- what do I care for this man?_ ” His voice changed again. “ _Never going back, you can't make me, I'll run at the border and go home._ ” 

“Can you point them out?” Dorian asked, thinking of the knife tucked in his shirt under his arm for quick access. A few quick cuts and they'd bleed out without much issue. When he turned back to look at Cole, the spirit was gone. He sighed, leaning back against the tree. He'd be back.

A pair of children ran past, laughing, and Dorian's heart ached. Most days he was able to keep his children out of his thoughts, but some days were harder than others. Phelan, Novis, and Des were the last good things that his homeland had given him, and they'd been stolen away by his actions to save them. He missed them desperately, and that had never faded. He'd never thought he'd want children until he'd met them. Now he couldn't imagine life without his little apprentices, or the little ones who crowded around the practice rings to watch him and the other Chargers practice.

And there was a thought.

Bull, with Sabine and Marcella, always smiling and happy. He would have made a good father.

Dorian shook his head to clear it, and Cole reappeared in front of him. 

“They're sleeping,” he said simply.

Dorian looked back to the Gull and Lantern. “I suppose there's no reason to wait now, is there?”

“ _Get out,_ ” Cole growled in his fathers voice. “ _You are no son of mine._ ”

“Well,” Dorian said with forced good humor, “there was always that.”

Cole reached out and took his hand, blink wide eyes at him. Dorian squeezed it, oddly thankful for the grounding touch.

“You want to kill him,” he said simply. 

“I do,” Dorian agreed.

“He hurt you,” Cole said. “I will help, if you want. But I think he's your Templar, and I think it would hurt you.”

Dorian blinked back the sting of unexpected tears, clearing his throat. “I'm not going to kill him, Cole. I just... I just need to see him, one more time. And say goodbye.”

Cole cautiously reached out and took his hand, and Dorian chuckled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. 

“Stupid, to be crying over such a terrible man,” he said. “But that's the thing. He was a better man than many, yet worse than them all. I don't know what will happen when I go through the door, but just like your Templar, I could never kill him, no matter how much I hate him. But he is the man that's the one responsible for every piece of pain I suffered at the hands of those men.” Dorian looked to the door of the tavern, blowing out a slow breath. “I think it's time.”

Cole nodded, and abruptly pulled him into a tight hug. Dorian buried his face in Cole's shoulder, touched.

“I will hear,” Cole said, tapping Dorian's heart. “Find you, if I have to.”

“I never thanked you for coming after me,” Dorian said, and gave him a shaky smile. “It means more than you may ever know. Thank you, Cole.” 

Cole let him go, and Dorian turned to the tavern.

After, he could never tell how long it took to get to the door. It felt like an eternity and barely a breath before he was pushing open the door.

He wasn't surprised to find it totally deserted.

“Oh, no one's here,” he said, the butterflies in his stomach making his voice loose and crack. “Time to leave.”

Footsteps on wood made him turn, and the butterflies disappeared into lead as Halward Pavus stepped into the room. It was jarring, to look at him. They were no longer the same height, Halward slightly shrunken and looking even smaller in the disguise of a Circle mage in those robes. He was much older, still holding onto his looks but with wrinkles around the eyes that Dorian had thought he'd never see. He looked... old. 

He looked like a stranger.

“If I'm supposed to be surprised it's you and not a real retainer, I'm afraid you're much too predictable for that,” Dorian said, flicking the door closed behind him. Halward shifted on his feet, eyes fixing on him, and Dorian sighed as he put his staff on behind him. “You're also much too predictable to take me the same way twice. They're all unconscious, even the one that you had in the back room.”

Halward simply stared at him for a long moment before saying very softly, “You look so different.”

“It's been nearly eight years now,” Dorian said, wishing more than ever that his palms weren't sweating. He felt like he was back in the Asariel house once again, passing through the white door leading to his fathers office. He could almost smell the ancient books on the walls, the polish of the desk, see him dripping in gold and moving like a spirit in deep green silks shot with gold, eyes hard as ever and ring bedecked fingers fussing with the papers on the desk and straightening the adornments of his robes. 

“Seven years, ten months, 18 days,” Halward said, barely audible. 

“I couldn't keep track,” Dorian said, almost apologetic. “I went mad after nearly three weeks of starvation and the time I was thrown out of the house in winter to be an object of a hunt. You'll have to forgive my lack of clarity after the number of times I was concussed.”

Halward stood stiff as a board, eyes widening slightly. “I never forgot that day. I could take it to the hour, the moment I realized what a mistake I had made. All I wanted was to make things easier for you, to make your life better. This- this aberration of yours, I thought to remove it from you would be a mercy.”

Dorian laughed, almost hysterically, running a hand over his head before pacing side to side. He felt almost as if he was caught in a cage, a tiger thrashing while it waited in the Proving Grounds. “A mercy. Oh, certainly, a mercy to be trapped screaming in my mind when the spell failed and my body turned into little more than a shell.” He turned to Halward. “But I supposed that was an acceptable risk.”

Halward closed his eyes, his expression pained. “I have regretted my decision every moment since.”

“Oh, I'm certain you did,” Dorian said, venom in his voice. 

“You are my only child!” Halward snapped, a bit of the tone he usually took when they fought coming back up. “I would have done everything to spare you from that and the shame of being caught. You were never subtle, I hoped to curb this before you were too old and your reputation fell apart. I wanted to make you Archon, and you were powerful enough to do it.”

“Oh, Archon,” Dorian drawled, hating how even eight years later they were back to this fight. “I never wanted politics! I was a scholar, an inventor. But who gives a damn about changing things with my hands instead of through bureaucracy?” 

Halward made a bitten off noise of frustration, and Dorian shook his head, hands balling into fists.

“What did you think, when I disappeared?” Dorian asked, taking a step forward. “Hmm? When was the moment you knew I wasn't coming home? Was it when you were cleaning my blood off your arms? Was it when you saw my accounts weren't being emptied? Was it months? Weeks? Years? You could have taken me back and you never even knew it. I was in Magister Atellian's house for nearly two weeks before he had me drugged and shipped me into Orlais. During your trips to Val Royeaux with the emissaries talk about trade negotiations, I was in a townhome being strangled and raped for the pleasure of the third man who owned me, pretending to be living furniture for his guests to rest their boots on. And do you know what?”

He spit on the floor, feel all the hatred and fury of those years well back up.

“Do you know what, father?” he demanded. “All of that, all the nightmares I have seen, everything I have been subjected to and suffered through, every beating and chase and starved moment, I was still myself and they could never take that from me. _Seven years_ of slavery to the most depraved men I've ever met- and I have met most of the senators- and I am still unbroken. I will _never_ change, and no one can take that from me.”

Halward was silent, eyes fixing to the floor.

“What?” Dorian demanded, spreading his arms. “Here I am, father. The prized last son of Asariel, heir of the Pavus line, whore of Orlais. Aren't you proud of what all your hard work has wrought? Isn't it such a proud moment, knowing your son was worth 50 crowns as used goods to his last owner? Look at your masterpiece, Halward Pavus. This is what you've made!”

Halward's head dipped.

“LOOK AT ME!” Dorian roared, throwing lightning to the floor. Halward jumped back, eyes snapping up to meet Dorian's. Dorian bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, letting lightning wind around his fingers. “Don't you look away from me. You deserve to see what you made me into. _Look at me._ ”

Halward suddenly looked years more haggard. “I see you,” he said, barely audible.

“Good,” Dorian said, staring him down. “Remember me. Remember that bratty little child you were so proud of. That child that you held, the boy you shunted from school to school when he fought duels, the young man you despaired of, the one who you dragged into your office and tried to remake because I was perfect, in all the wrong ways. Remember me being caught by opportunists not eight miles from my home, thinking I could escape and being proved wrong over and over. Remember me, head shaved and tossed to the wolves, considered less valuable than a hunting dog, locked in a cell for Maker knows how long to break me. Remember me now, every ounce of hatred in my voice. Remember that, because everything that was done to me, every last time I was beaten, raped, starved, strangled, hunted, collared, muted, and sold, I remembered you.”

Halward was silent, unblinking. A single tear fell from each eye, and Dorian found that he had never cared less.

“Remember me,” he said, throat tight with anguish as phantom hands roamed his body, “because this is the last time you will _ever_ see me.”

He turned, and opened the door.

Outside, the sounds of the world rushed back in. Cole sat on his gelding, blinking patient eyes.

“Let's go, Cole,” Dorian said, and swung onto Princess's back.

oOo

He bathed in Lake Luthias again, running a damp cloth over his skin to scrub away the remains of the day. The sunlight gleamed on the water, the shallows rippling with gold. Fish darted past him, and he sank down in the sun warmed water to hold out his hand. One of the big, lazy trout came to rest beside him, letting him tickle along the soft belly. Happy bubbles came up to the surface, and despite himself Dorian smiled. He looked out beyond the lake, out over the vast valley and sharp lines of the mountains. The sun was streaming through a mist of clouds, shooting beams of light onto the majestic scene.

“Beautiful,” he said to the trout, who flicked a lazy tail and shot away. A few small fish curiously swam up, fearless, and Dorian stirred the water. They scattered and returned, inspecting the hand still in the water with fascination. He turned his hand side to side, laughing as one of the more adventurous ones nibbled at his fingers.

The fish knew nothing of the war that had raged in the valley just below their little home. The dead littered the ground there, and their cousins had likely made a feast of them. 

But life went on for every fish in this pond, undisturbed by the world passing by.

Dorian stared out at the sunset, huffing out a bit of a laugh.

Life went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we officially hit the middle of Til Kingdom Come.
> 
> Thank you all.


	35. The Demands of the Qun, or, The Truth

**“Ataash varin kata.**

**In the end lies glory.”**

oOo

The Storm Coast was living up to its name as they arrived, thundering rolling through sky. A pair of the Blades of Hessarian met them as they rode in through the little pass, shields and swords glinting in the faint light. They bowed as Herah dismounted, straightening only when she waved them up. One was a tall, middleaged woman with a shaved head who could have been Vivienne's sister, the other a boy perhaps 20 with wild red curls and wide eyes.

“Herald,” the woman said, taking the reins. “We have fought and killed many since your last visit. We whet our blades with the blood of my lady's enemies. My brother has taken tally and mapped where each fell, that you might have records for the future. This one is Fau, and that one is Norren.”

“Your service is appreciated,” Herah said, taking a piece of parchment from Norren, who bowed again. “What else have you seen since I was here last?”

“Walkers, in the woods, who thought us local.” Fau opened the map for her, tapping spots on it. “Elven, most, wearing deep woods armor. They are fast and effective, swift killers. We learned to hide from them, watched them when we could. All but one elf have departed, and he hides well. We see his tracks only rarely, but they are distinctive. He has scouted our camp and those of the Venatori, but we have not lost any of our own to him.”

Bull's eye narrowed. “Probably our contact, then.”

“This one has seen him,” Norren added. “He is very slender and very fast, and has brown hair in a strange cut. He watched the Warden when she and the others passed through to see the dragon, but did nothing. This one was quiet, and was careful to avoid him.”

“Good,” Herah said, smiling at him. “We can't afford to lose any more Blades.”

Norren flushed, ducking his head, and Fau looked like she was both embarrassed and amused at the boy.

“Come,” she said, gesturing with an outstretched hand. “This one has instructed her brothers and sisters to make a camp ready for you and seen that it is done. The camp hosts the Lady Warden and the other chosen of the Herald. Today they have gone to hunt the dragon, but should be back by nightfall.”

The Blades were swift and near silent as they moved, like coursing dogs flickering through the trees as they led them to a camp on the coast. It was larger than before, and Bull raised an eyebrow when he saw additional long tents had been placed a bit away from the main camp with another large fire pit. Fau bowed slightly, gesturing him towards the other tents. “We have made an area for the soldiers under your command, The Iron Bull. This one thought you might like more space with your company and your size.”

“Thanks,” he said, looking it over. “Appreciate it.”

The others filed past him, leading the mounts to the corral that had been made off to the side. He was about to join them when Fau cleared her throat.

“This one has a request to make, The Iron Bull.”

He turned back to her, waiting. Fau nodded to where a pair of Blades were working on sharpening weapons, her eyes a little sad. “This one has a sibling- the one spinning the grind for the ax. They wish to speak with you, The Iron Bull. They are, ah. What is the word? Excommunicated? They are once of the Qun and no longer. They were brought to the Blades by faith, they say. This one believes they seek answers, or to warn you. This one cannot say further, as it is not her place.”

“Do they have a name?” Bull asked, looking at the spinner. They were a small thing, human, darker than Vivienne but with the noble arched nose and silver eyes of a Seheron native. 

“Maraas-Basra is what they are called,” Fau said. “Will you speak with them?”

“Sure,” Bull said, unable to look away from them. “After dinner.”

“This one thanks you,” Fau said, and bowed again. “Maraas-Basra has been troubled, and this one would like them to be better.”

“I'll do what I can,” Bull said, and let Fau take Killer to the corral. His estimation of her went up when he saw how Killer went without complaint. With a sigh, he trudged over to one of the tents. The Chargers had all piled into one, to no ones surprise, so he took the other. It was a standard tent, blessedly outfitted with a thick straw mattress. He put his bedroll out on it, lit one of the little braziers in the center, and collapsed onto the mattress. The ceiling was utterly uninspiring. Canvas tended to be unremarkable.

He had just sunken into a pit of self pity when the door flicked open and Krem walked in. His face was like a particularly thunderous storm cloud.

“An interesting thing happened this morning,” Krem said, smiling with a lot of teeth. Most human smiles weren't all that intimidating but Krem had his smile down pat, and Bull wasn't an idiot enough to ignore when Krem was putting effort into anger. He sat up, feeling a lot like he'd just been handed a cannonball full of gaatlok with a fire around his feet. Krem slowly pulled his gloves off, tucking them in his belt. “I went to talk to Dorian when I saw he wasn't at the gate.”

Bull swallowed hard.

“He was very, very drunk,” Krem said with horrifying calm. “Told me some interesting things. Mostly that you and he have had a bit of a spat over the Qun.”

“You could say that.”

Krem looked him in the eye, his face hard and cold. “I've let it slide, alright? I've ignored it, but there's a lot of shit I don't agree with when it comes to the Qun, and he sure as hell isn't wrong about the _saarebas_. I know we're here to get an agreement with them. I know we need this to win a war. But don't you _dare_ forget everything that Dorian's done for you too. He's fighting a war in his head, and if you two can't get your shit sorted you better end it with everything off your chest about each other. He's not just yours, he's ours too, and I don't want to lose a brother because you can't admit when things have gone wrong.” He exhaled slowly. “Also, Dorian requested that I tell the Qun to fuck itself, and for you to have just as much fun fucking yourself.”

Bull was silent, feeling it like a cut to his soul.

“Anything else?” he asked quietly.

“Only that I love you too,” Krem said, eyes softening a hair. “We all do. We'd die for you without hesitation. Don't forget that, while you're sulking and wrestling with philosophy. I know it's your life. It's your world. There's no easy answer to this, but don't forget. Even when we're mad, we love you. Dorian more than anyone.”

He shook his head sharply and ducked back out of the tent flap, leaving Bull alone with only the crackle of the fire in the brazier for company.

oOo

Tana came back with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas in tow as night fell. The group was splattered with gore, but looked satisfied. Tana's face looked odd in the early moonlight, her tattoos making her look gaunt as a skeleton, and she moved like something deeply unnatural. For all her beauty and intensity, Bull felt a whisper of unease looking at her. She was hard to pin down- General, warrior, cruel in her kindness, but desperate for peace more than anything. A study in contrasts, perhaps as much as Herah.

Once they were cleaned off, the four joined them around the fire and dug in. Bull listened with half an ear, preoccupied by a tidal wave of thoughts about Dorian, the Qun, and the nightmarish thought of Herah being tugged along by an Arvaarad. He excused himself early and returned to his tent.

Writing wouldn't come so he laid on the mattress and let his mind fall back to the thoughts of Herah and the Qun.

Solas had posed the question months ago, about those in the Inquisition under the Qun. Sera would go mad, be given qamek to make her nothing more than a mindless worker, if she lived through it at all. Vivienne would break. Solas, destroyed. Cassandra's faith would make her either a priest or perhaps even a Tallis. She and Cullen already knew lives of devotion, they would survive the best. But Herah-

A powerful weapon, with all the usual power as some of the massive Saarebas that he'd met squeezed down in a tiny package. She would be easier to physically control, though she would fight mentally. The collar would be too big, and she'd struggle under the weight of it and the mask. Worse, her tongue would almost certainly be removed outright, her hands perhaps bound in mitts and only released to fight. And she was unquestionably a beauty. Bull had known too many Arvaarads to even keep following that trail of thought. Restlessly he shifted his position, trying to avoid the thoughts of Seheron that were starting to swim to the surface.

“Permission to enter?” someone called from outside. He sat up, dread settling in his stomach. 

“Come in.”

Maraas-Basra opened the flap and stepped inside. They sized each other up, and Bull gestured to one of the little camp chairs that had migrated to his tent. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Maraas-Basra took the seat, twisting their hands together. “They say you are Ben Hassrath.” Their voice was raspy, damaged from something. “This one has heard the whispers.”

“They're true,” Bull said calmly. “I'm Ben Hassrath.”

Maraas-Basra nodded, looking weary. “It is as this one thought. This one was once of the Qun, now they are nothing but a cast away, of use only to live and die by the Blades. This one spoke against offenses being caused by Antaam, and was sent to become a qamek'd Athlok. This one ran.” They shrugged, eyes dark with memory, and lifted a hand when Bull went to speak. “This one can only say these things once. This one... this one feels that the Qun is some form of truth. But the people are not true. This one thinks the same of those who sing unto Lady Andraste. The Chant, in its full, is truth. The people are not. This one serves the Blades, and the Blades know a truth, which is to defend and strengthen our Herald. She brings more truths to the world, as does our Lady Goddess.” They paused, taking a slow breath. “This one wishes to warn you. They saw the Tallis in the woods, read the reports, and kept silent. This is not a matter for Blades. There will be a test of faith. There always is.”

“Thank you,” Bull said quietly, his worst fears curdling in his stomach. “I appreciate the warning.”

Maraas-Basra nodded, and went to stand.

“A moment,” Bull said. “Can I ask you something?”

They sat again, looking a little surprised. “You may ask this one anything you like.”

Bull clasped his hands together. “What about faith? Having faith in the Qun?”

They looked sad. “This one has faith, for what is faith but belief in things not seen, which are there. But faith with no action is nothing more than a useless, lazy hope. This one believes, The Iron Bull of the Ben Hassrath. But this one knows the price of true belief- to call out corruption will make you nothing more than a target to be destroyed that corruption may thrive. This one cannot be Qunari while such inequality exists. So this one is a Blade, another form of truth. Devoted to Andraste alone, not to the corruption of the Imperium or the blood soaked bones of the Chantry. This one has seen cages- this one knows what a cage looks like, no matter its shape, if it is gold or stone. This one knows slaves, even if a slave does not know they are a slave.”

Bull stared at the floor of the tent, his heart whirling with emotions.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “You've... you've given me a lot to think about.”

Maraas-Basra rose, bowing slightly. “This one believes that truth accepts you as you are,” they said after a beat. “This one hopes that your faith finds truth.”

Bull nodded, and the flap closed.

He laid back on the mattress, and ground the heel of his hand into his suddenly wet eye. It would be a sleepless night.

oOo

Bull was right. Morning dawned gray and ugly after a fitful night of snatches of sleep disturbed by his constant jolting awake. The Chargers were up and in fine form while he sat at the fire and poked it with a stick. The rain drizzling down was not helping, and Dalish flicked her fingers to add a little more power to it and get the wood to dry out. The others crowded around, and breakfast was started. Bull went through the motions, watching with vague interest as the dragon hunters left again. Herah made her way over from the main camp, looking frazzled.

“What do you think?” She asked. “Should I take out my braids? Would it be rude to be wearing them when we met up with the contact?”

Bull forced himself back to the present, shaking off the phantom pains of old stab wounds. “You're fine, unless you don't want to wear them.”

Herah touched her hair, protective. “No, I like it.” She looked at him, and he could see the fear she'd shoved deep down. “I just want this to go right.”

“Hey now,” he soothed, knowing it's a lie as it leaves his tongue. “It'll be fine, they're not going to get fussed about your hair.”

Unless she meets a full blooded true kithshok. Then things would be different.

Herah exhaled heavily, biting her lip. “And of course a stupid storm is rolling in. I don't know what else I expected. Norren's going to take us to the rendezvous point in an hour, I better go get my gear on.” She darted away, and Bull watched her go. He could barely see any remnants of the cheery mercenary who'd first broken Dorian's collar. All that this war had made her was a commander, a warrior that knew a thing or two about locks. It was a shame, really. The talents she had, pushed away in return for a fight she might not survive. Who knew what she might have been, under the hands of a true teacher.

He rose, silent, and went to fetch his gear.

Sure enough, they were headed out of camp in an hour, kitted out and grim as could be. Norren took the lead with Herah, the pair of them scouting ahead while the Chargers fell into their standard formation. Dalish and Grim were a whisper in the trees, slipping through the branches without a sound to check their sides. The rendezvous camp was set up with awnings, just enough to keep most of the rain off, and Bull looked around as Herah slid her staff back in its holder. Norren vanished, disappearing back the way they came without a word.

“Our Qunari contact should be here,” Bull said, looking around. He could see the shape of someone through the trees, and wanted to let them be clear about who he was.

“He is.” The shape moved, and Gatt stepped out into the open. Gatt looked just as he had years ago. A little older, yes, but no less hard eyed and his hair just as horribly cut. He beamed as Bull walked up, and Bull put on a smile even as his heart sank. “Good to see you again, Hissrad.”

 _Liar_.

That was his title, his truth. But now all he could see was Dorian, eyes hard as diamond.

“Gatt! Last I heard you were still in Seheron!” Despite his worry, Bull felt some of his stress melt away at the sight of him. Gatt was someone he had missed, one of the few things about Seheron that hadn't been a complete nightmare. Gatt had been a wild card at the best of times, but faultlessly loyal and excellent in a fight. 

“They finally decided I've calmed down enough to go back into the world.” Gatt said with a grin. Bull could still see the remnants of the wild, feral little thing that he'd rescued from a magisters boat, but Gatt looked good. Strong, competent, confident. A good change. Gatt had taken to the Qun like a duck to water, soaking up everything it had to teach. Like all viddathari he had his questions that needed answering, but he loved the Qun fiercely. 

“Boss, this is Gatt,” he said, waving a hand. Herah smiled politely. “We worked together in Seheron.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. Hissrad's reports say you're doing good work,” Gatt said, turning to Herah. He looked her over, frowning a little. “My apologies, I didn't realize you were quite so young.”

“I'm deformed,” Herah said bluntly, her smile turning a little brittle. “This is as large as I'll ever be, but I'm nearly 20 years. Pleasure to meet you.”

Bull felt a tingle of unease. He hadn't known that Herah thought of herself that way, and judging by the looks on the others faces he wasn't the only one. Sera and Blackwall, chosen to be as least intimidating as possible, were shifting uncomfortably.

“Bull is Hissrad?” Herah said politely, her eyes wide with curious interest. Bull resisted the urge to kick her. She knew full well what Hissrad meant.

“Under the Qun we use titles, not names,” Gatt said. 

Bull decided to play along, since Herah was dragging this out. “My title was Hissrad, because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it as “keeper of illusions,” or-”

“Liar. It means liar.”

“Well you don't have to say it like that,” Bull said sharply.

Herah looked insufferably smug, but smiled charmingly at Gatt. “It's so nice to hear that friends say good things about you in their secret spy reports.” She was positively dripping with goodwill, even though the innocence was faked. She had become a good actress. Her effortlessly sweet image hid a brutal fighter, and the juxtaposition between the two was jarring. Gatt would see for himself soon enough.

“He does,” Gatt said with some exasperation, “but they aren't really secret, are they?”

“Look, Gatt-” Bull started, but Gatt waved him off.

“Relax. Unlike our superiors I know how it works out here. We're in this together. The Imperium is bad enough without this Venatori cult.” Gatt shook his head, lip curling. “If this new strain of lyrium helps them seize power in Tevinter, the war with Qunandar could get worse.”

“With this stuff, the 'Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks,” Bull said. “We've seen what the Templars have turned into. We could lose Seheron, and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here.”

“The Ben-Hassrath agree. That's why we're here.” Gatt nodded, and turned to Herah, once again all business. “Our dreadnought is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We'll need to eliminate the Venatori, then signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship.”

Herah glanced at him. “Bull, does this work for you?”

He shifted on his feet, grimacing a little. “I don't know. I've never liked covering a dreadnought run. Too many ways for shit to go wrong. A half dozen mages on the shore could do some serious damage if the dreadnought was close enough. If our scouts underestimate enemy numbers, we're dead. If we can't lock down the Venatori mages, the ship's dead. It's risky.”

Gatt shrugged. “Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?”

Herah lifted her hand, cutting off any more conversation. “Much as I'd love to continue this chat, I'd more like to see to upholding our end of the bargain.”

Gatt nodded, and Bull didn't miss the look of faint, pleased surprise on his face. Herah had made a good impression after all. “We've got two possible locations for the Venatori camps. We'll need to split up and hit both.”

“I'll go with you, boss,” Bull said. “Krem can take the Chargers.”

Herah nodded without complaint. “Fill him in, I'll meet with you in a moment.”

Bull nodded, walking over to where the Chargers were leaning against the rocks. They stood up, Dalish stretching languidly and Stitches popping his back. He gave them the quick rundown and Skinner grinned lazily.

“Shems'll be dead before they know it.”

He tried to smile, but the worry made it lopsided. “Just... pay attention, alright? The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad.”

“Yes, mother,” Krem drawled, trying for nonchalant. The tension among them all was painful, and Bull tried for another smile.

“Qunari don't have mothers, remember?”

“We'll be fine, Chief.” Krem gave him a salute with a bit more snap to it than usual. The scars of his eye socket ached. 

“I'm sorry,” he said abruptly, Maraas-Basra's words flicking through his mind. “For fucking things up with Dorian. I'm trying to find a way to make it right.”

Everyone exchanged glances, and Grim nodded. That seemed about a full monologue for him, and Krem nodded sharply.

“Alright, Chargers,” Bull said. “Horns up.”

“Horns up,” the group chorused back as Herah approached. Bull turned to her, meeting her eyes.

“Ready when you are.”

oOo

The point was one they'd been to before, while Herah had scrambled all over the rocks and ridges in her joy of mapping. Bull flicked raindrops off of his face, looking out over the heaving seas. The fight was still fizzling in his veins, a little wilder than usual. Old memories had a hard time being silenced it seemed, and with Gatt at his side it was almost as if he was on Seheron again. But there was Herah, eyes cold as the ocean below them and the rain pouring down on them, washing the blood splatters off of her coat. She wore her cold weather gear, the long tailed leather coat fluttering in the wind as she planted her staff on the ground and leaned against it. Bull was suddenly reminded of Tana, murmuring warnings about the cost of power. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather crawled down his spine, and he looked out to the other ridge. Herah had sacrificed her own family to do the right thing, and he wasn't blind. He'd seen the way she looked at the Inquisitors throne, the faint hunger in that stare. She'd been raised to power, knew it in her bones.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and returned to the present.

“We're clear, Gatt,” he said, sheathing his blade.

“Right.” Gatt knelt, lighting the flare. “Signaling the dreadnought.”

He checked around the area, spotting the Chargers on the other ridge. A bit of giddy relief snuck into his heart and he crushed it. “Charger's already sent theirs up. See them down there?”

“I knew you gave them the easier job,” Gatt said with a wry grin, walking back over to them. Bull shrugged one shoulder, giving him a half smile. Gatt had been one of his once- he knew just how much punishment Bull was willing to take in order to spare his men.

“There's the dreadnought,” Bull said, hearing the clang of the bells. Herah turned, sucking in a breath as she saw the dreadnought appear out of the mist. 

The Chargers looked so small on the ridge. So small, so fragile, with the great hulking mass of the dreadnought in the water beyond. The great plunging mass of it, full of spikes and spines, the dragons head on the bow with its jaw open wide to fire.

“There, on the bow,” he said, pointing. “You see that? That's an _adaar_.”

Herah's eyes widened and she looked forward intently, fascinated. “The dragons head?”

“See how the mouths are open?” Bull said, gesturing. “The cannonball fires from there.”

“Amazing,” Herah breathed, eyes fixed on the sight. Bull could feel Gatt's eyes fixing on him, certainly questioning why he was telling so much to someone who wasn't Qunari. “I never thought I'd see anything like this, they're _enormous_.”

The dreadnought fired, and for a moment he was back in Seheron, hearing the bone deep _whomp_ of the cannons as flame arced through the rain onto the waiting Tevene ship. He laughed, half giddy with relief at how cleanly everything had gone. The ship sank quickly, sail tattered beyond recognition and great gaping holes in the wooden sides. On the ridge he could see Krem thrust his sword in the air, triumphant.

“Ahh, that brings back memories,” he said with a fond smile, laughing a little. Herah whistled, watching intently as the ship went down. Seeing a dreadnought in action was awe inspiring.

Bull glanced around, and felt fear clutch his heart. “Shit.” He gestured at the coastline, where Venatori stalked along the beach towards the ridge where the Chargers stood. 

Herah nodded at the group, sliding her stave out of its holder. “There's quite a few of them, Bull.”

“Yeah.” Icy fear writhed under his skin, the memory of Hissrad's soft voice telling him there would be a test one day ringing in his ears. 

Gatt broke through, his voice oddly calm. “Your men need to hold that position, Bull.”

_Using my chosen name to win me over. Rookie mistake, Gatt. I taught you that._

“They do that, they're dead,” Bull said flatly.

A bit of fire sprung up in Gatt's eyes. “And if they don't, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead. You'd be throwing away the alliance between the Inquisiton and the Qunari! You'd be declaring yourself _tal vashoth_.”

Bull resisted the urge to bare his teeth, muscles tensing. Gatt shifted, hands twitching towards his long knives.

“With all you've given the Inquisition, half the Ben Hassrath think you've betrayed us already,” Gatt said, shaking his head. “I stood up for you, Hissrad. I told them you'd never become tal vashoth.”

“They're _my_ men,” Bull said, putting all their history into those words. Every long night, every captured member of the antaam, every child he'd saved and brought under his wing. Every bit of wildness he'd coaxed out of Gatt to make him sane again, every single one of _his_ men that he'd loved as fiercely as dragon fire. If anyone would know that, it would be Gatt. Which was why it was him, standing between the past and the future.

“I know that,” Gatt said, and there was true sorrow in his eyes. Behind them, Bull could see the pyres of Seheron, see every broken tal vashoth body he'd tossed into the flames. Every former comrade gone mad with grief, every one of them a wrecked thing with cracked limbs and glazed eyes, burning burning burning. All in the name of the Qun. “But you need to do what's right, Hissrad. For this alliance. And for the Qun.”

Bull clenched his jaw, looking to Herah. “Boss?”

Herah stared out at the cove below, her eyes narrowed. Her eyes flicked between the two, and he could practically hear her mind whirring with calculations. He knew what her answer would be. She was ruthless in her choices, most days, hunting more power to destroy her enemies. The Qun was the reasonable choice. She straightened, looking right at him.

Shaking her head sharply she ordered, “Save your men. Call the retreat.”

Relief and agony warred as he lifted the horn and blew. In the distance, he could see the Chargers respond, immediately turning to the forest. “They're falling back.”

Gatt turned on him, fury etching lines in his face. “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are! For what? For this? For _them_?”

Herah turned to him, and the crackle of ozone stained the air, purple lightning crackling along her fingers “Don't call him Hissrad,” she said coldly.

“No way that it's out of range,” Bull said quietly, looking down at the dreadnought. “Won't be long, now.”

Herah looked up at him. “Will the dreadnought sink?”

“Sink?” He braced himself, forcing himself to fix his eyes on the great hulk in the water. “Qunari dreadnoughts don't sink.”

Herah looked back at the dreadnought, and he saw the realization hit her, her eyes going wide. The Venatori mages readied their fireballs, and they arched through the air to hit the dreadnought cleanly. They'd aimed well, Ages of war teaching them just where the gaatlok was stored. The dreadnought blew, and Herah stifled a sob. Sera swore softly, and Blackwall murmured something softly into the sky. A prayer, perhaps, for all the good it would do.

“Come on,” he said, feeling his gorge rise. “Let's get back to my boys.”

Herah didn't move, watching the dreadnought. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

The ocean rushed below, and Bull stood on the edge, wishing it would swallow him whole.

oOo

The wind howled down the coast, and where she stood wrapped in her coat Herah could see every shaking tree as the wind reached it. The point above camp was always a difficult scramble, but a good view out over the expanse. Scouts often nested in the trees here, watching the coast with ravens on their arms. One of the messenger ravens actually sat perched on a branch above her, clever eyes watching her, and when she lifted a hand he flew down to land on it with a heavy thud. Herah knew all of the ravens now, and this one was know as Fleck for his strangle, speckled beak.

“Hello, handsome man,” she murmured, gently stroking the soft feathers of his chest. He croaked softly at her, stretching up to run his beak along her ear and then nip gently at her coat collar.

“A very handsome man indeed,” Fau said as she walked up. Herah nodded, letting Fleck push his head under her chin. “You wished to speak with this one, my lady?”

Herah nodded, preening Fleck's chest. “The Qun betrayed us, as expected, which leaves me with loose ends to clean up. There is red lyrium on the beach, headed for Minrathous. I would ask the Blades to see that it and those who know of it never reach the city. Kill all but the leader, and bring that one to Skyhold for questioning. As for the lyrium, do what you can to destroy it. Don't let so much as a fleck of it loose, get it to the scouts to dispose of.”

Fau nodded, bowing slightly. “It shall be done, my lady.”

Herah stroked Fleck, who croaked softly and nibbled at her hairline. “Show no mercy,” she said. “But if there are slaves in the midst, capture and hold them. Those should be freed. But don't let any of the mages escape. Find their camps, strip them bare, I want every scrap of information from them. I'm not willing to risk the Venatori getting their hands on red lyrium monsters. It's bad enough we have the corrupted Templars to deal with. I failed the Qunari and my own people, Fau. Destroy them so I never have to fail them again.”

“Yes, my lady.” Fau bowed again, and Herah inclined her head.

“Thank you for your service,” she said, a little gentler. “The Blades are a great asset to us.”

“We are happy to serve Andraste's Herald,” Fau said, and melted back into the trees. 

Herah looked back at the water, lifting her hand so Fleck could hop on her shoulder and investigate her braids. The waves out in the distance crashed against each other, the spray rising up in great jets. Birds wheeled over the water, keen eyes watching for fish for their dinner. And beneath the waves, already the dreadnought was becoming part of the ocean floor for the rest of time, its dead soon to be food for the fish the birds ate. How many would it take, to power such a massive ship? Certainly a hundred, if not more. Those to row, to aim, the captain and the lead crew, those who served food, those who did the small works, the defensive _saarebas_ and their _arvaarads_... a toll of many lives, and she'd ordered yet more death without so much as blinking.

When had slaughter become nothing more than an order to be given?

The thought chilled her. Herah was still as a statue, the rainwater dripping off her lashes as she looked out over the coast from the ridge. The ocean seemed to stretch on forever, the horizon blank with possibility. Fleck ruffled his wings before nuzzling her, croaking softly.

She didn't turn at the sound of crunching footsteps, knowing them as well as she knew her own. Bull joined her there, staring out over the vast expanse of the sea. 

“For even considering this, there was talk,” she said, feeling almost numb. The wind howled down the beach, and far below some of the Blades of Hessarian saluted Andraste's Herald. She lifted her arm in return, and they continued on their way. “Everyone agreed. It was too easy. I thought I could do it, I thought I could bridge us back together. I didn't think the price would be so high.”

“Yeah,” Bull said quietly. Herah looked over at him, taking in his rain soaked skin and the crags of his face. He looked gutted, exhaustion in every line of his body. “I knew it had to be a test. Just didn't ever think it'd end up like this.” He ground his hand against his eye, heaving out a sigh. “Ah, shit. Come on, come back to camp. Tana killed the dragon, she's heading back to Skyhold to do whatever weird Warden shit she wants to do. We should ride with her, leave this shithole.”

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly, looking up at him. “I'm sorry I couldn't figure out a way around it.”

Bull shook his head. “Not your fault,” he said dully. “Leave it alone, Herah. Come on.”

He turned away, heading back down towards camp.

Herah looked back over the sea, with its endless pounding waves. Somewhere under the water, the bodies of a hundred or more Qunari rested on the ocean floor, already beginning to decay. And it was her fault they were dead, and the Chargers had lived. She lifted her hand, letting it fill with lightning, and tossed it out over the waves. It hit the water and scattered, crackling out and shimmering over the waves. _Sleep well_ , she thought, and turned her back on the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for how long this took, but this chapter, much like the last, was very personal for me. As someone whose love for others required I leave the religion I was raised and had so much faith in, this was a hard one to write.


	36. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for: Suicidal ideation by Bull, who's not in the best headspace

**“Weep for what you lose-**  
**but rise, my friend.**  
**There is work yet to be done,**  
**and strength to be found when it seems lost.”**

**Excerpt from a letter between the House of Granite and the House of Grass, 9:48**

oOo

It was near dawn when they arrived back at Skyhold. They'd ridden hard through the pass, and Herah trudged up the stairs step by aching step. The fire was roaring in the bedroom. She reached the top and smiled as she saw that Felix had made himself comfortable in bed. She walked to him, feeling a tired smile sneak onto her face as he stirred and opened his eyes. He looked no worse than when she had left him, but he was still gaunt and clearly losing more energy. Felix stretched languidly, smiling up at her. Herah cupped his cheek, bending to kiss him softly.

“I missed you,” Felix murmured. “It didn't go well, did it?”

She shook her head, and went over to the wardrobe to change out of her armor and into her usual clothes. Felix watched her with shameless appreciation, and she grinned at him. “Are you enjoying the sight?”

“I always enjoy looking at you,” he said mildly, but his eyes were bright with cheer. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, the tattoos on his torso picked out by the fire light. “Sex might be off the table, but I still have a beautiful woman sharing my bed and resting in my arms.”

Herah shook her head, smiling, and went back to bed in her cotton breeches and a loose white shirt. Felix obligingly moved over, letting her wrap her arms around him so that they were curled together. She nosed at the soft spot behind his ear, sighing as a wave of satisfaction rolled over her. “I missed you, love.”

“I quite missed you too.” He squeezed her hand, and she kissed his neck. “We should marry soon. I've had more energy than usual.”

“A good plan.” Herah twined their fingers together, and Felix squeezed gently. “A few days from now?” 

“Saturday, then?” Felix asked.

“Saturday sounds good.” She pressed her face against his cheek, and Felix leaned into her. “I think I'll never love someone like you as long as I live.”

“And neither shall I,” Felix murmured. Herah sighed, and closed her eyes. She drifted off to the sound of Felix's quiet breaths, and did her best not to think about the future.

oOo

“What do you mean, he's not here?” Bull asked, numb. The woman shrugged, leaning on her doorway. Dorian's next door neighbor was one of the visiting Fereldan nobles, a minor Bann with a lazy smile and quick eyes that had decided to join the army in an advisory and leadership capacity. She could have been one of Barris’s siblings, built as broad and lean as he was, and Bull had seen her in action during Adamant. She was a ferocious fighter, and as the noon sun fell on her she seemed even more extraordinary.

“Haven't seen him for near a week, now. And normally he's back and forth all hours, in and out of the library or out to the training grounds. I thought he left with you, I didn't see him from that day on." 

Bull nodded, trying for a smile. "Thanks. I'm sure he's just out on a mission." 

Bann Adaline shrugged, her shoulders moving like small mountains. Bull was a little transfixed at the sight. "Assume yes til proven otherwise, I'd say. He seems nice, from what I know of him, and he's a quiet neighbor when you two aren't yelling the roof down. I'll keep an eye out and let you know when he shows up again." 

Bull nodded his thanks, unable to speak, and strode to the library. He passed Helisma and, despite his intense reluctance to talk to any of the Tranquil, paused. “Hey, Helisma.”

The Tranquil turned, her flat eyes boring into his skull. Bull narrowly suppressed a shudder.

“How can I assist you, The Iron Bull?” Her voice was flat and calm.

“Have you seen Dorian within the past two, three days?” He asked, looking over to where Dorian had began carving out a little nook for himself. No one had disturbed his hoarded pillows or chair, suggesting that someone (honestly likely Solas or Fiona) had been keeping a close eye on it. “Has he been here?”

“I have not seen Serah Dorian in that time,” Helisma said. “I saw him last one week ago carrying bottles of alcoholic spirits and a letter to his room.”

Bull paused. “A letter? Did it have a seal on it?”

“The seal was broken, but there was.” Helisma blinked slowly. “I saw it as he passed. It is the House Pavus crest of Tevinter.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “That’s specific knowledge for you to have.”

Helisma looked at him, eyes dead. “Once I knew many things for many people. I do not talk to dragons any more. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“No,” Bull said, skin crawling with unease. “Thank you, Helisma. You’ve helped.”

Helisma nodded, turning away to go back to her tables full of dead things. Bull shivered and made his way down the stairs, careful not to hit his horns as he went down. Solas was in the rotunda, glaring at a book as if he could burn holes in it with only his eyes. And, for all Bull knew, maybe he could.

“Hey, Solas.”

Solas’ ears twitched down slightly, and his eyes flicked up to Bull. “ _What_.”

Bull raised his hands, a bit alarmed by the aggression. “Whoa, hey there, just asking if you know where Dorian is.”

Some of the tension dissipated from Solas’ shoulders, and he closed the book with a loud _thud_. “I’m afraid I’ve not seen him for some time. I know that he left the same day that you did, and I was under the impression that Herah had a mission for him from what Felix said when I visited with him.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were on speaking terms with our resident mathematician.”

Solas made a face, the very picture of grudging acceptance. “He asked to speak to me and wanted to know about the math of the ancient elves.”

Bull smothered a smile, which Solas didn’t miss.

“It was… it was unfortunately a very pleasant conversation,” he said, as if someone had pulled teeth to make him say it. “He was very excited about some things. I will admit, it was good to see him enthused. He is a bit better than usual of late. Perhaps the last push towards his final days.”

Bull ran a hand over his head, huffing out a sigh. “Wish I could say I was surprised.” 

Solas sighed as well, looking up at the paintings. “The blight is a truly terrible thing.” He shook his head and looked back at his book. “In any case, Dorian is not here and I have not heard yet of where he's gone. From what Felix said, he was rather secretive about the whole thing. Perhaps you could ask Herah where he was sent.”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “I'll do that.”

A finger of dread trickled down his spine as he left the rotunda, passing through the Great Hall. He nodded briefly to Varric before walking into Josephine's office, finding her bowed over her paperwork. She looked up, smiling at him. “Ah, The Iron Bull. How can I help?”

“Herah,” Bull said without preamble. “Do you know where she is?”

“Herah?” Josephine pulled a paper from one of the piles, looking over it with a frown. “Ah, she's in conference with Magister Tilani for around another fifteen minutes or so in the War Room. Magister Tilani wanted to speak to her and the Commander about the potential for some of her own house guard to be looped in as part of our foothold in Tevinter.”

“Right. You good if I wait for her here?”

Josephine nodded towards her couch. “Not at all, please make yourself comfortable. Iani!”

A gangly human girl stuck her head around the door, blinking oversized eyes at Josephine. “Yes'm?”

“If you could go to the kitchen and request some of the red tea from Herah's stores be brewed for The Iron Bull and myself, and bring up a basket of pastries, that would be much appreciated.” Josephine fished another paper seemingly at random out as Iani, who looked to be as Fereldan as they came and could have been one of Cullen's cousins, scurried out to go down the stairs. Josephine smiled as she went. 

“I do like having her around,” she confessed to Bull as she dipped her pen in ink again. “A clever girl, our little Iani. She wants to train as one of the lady's guards that are so wanted right now, but Cullen won't let her until she learns to read and write and passes her 15th birthday. She's making great strides, and I'm teaching her comportment so she might find a good job with one of the nobility. Cullen is growing terribly fond of our little ones, to be certain.”

Bull managed a somewhat strained smile at her, and jumped a little as Iani abruptly appeared beside him with a basket.

“Scones?” She asked brightly. 

“Thanks.” He took one gingerly. Iani's smile was just to the side of being a little intense, and with her too-big eyes the effect wasn't unlike being stared at by a slightly manic mabari.

Iani set the basket just to the side of Josephine's desk on a little side table that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere specifically for the goods, and pulled out some sachets from them. Tea leaves apparently were on the inside, and she put them into a teapot that also appeared from under Josephine's desk and set to brewing on the fire. Bull very carefully bit his scone, watching Iani. She reminded him a little of Cole, all too eager to please. And that, perhaps, was not the best trait to have in a guard. 

“I'll watch the kettle, Iani,” Josephine said gently. “Why don't you go get lunch.”

It wasn't a suggestion, and Iani left with a scramble of skinny legs.

Josephine came to join him on the couch, and he sighed as she fixed him with a level stare. She reached out a gentle hand, squeezing his arm a little.

“I know better than to ask if you are all right, my friend,” she said quietly. “I just want you to know that I will listen, if need be. You are free to ignore me and carry on as usual, but I will be here if ever you need an ear.”

Bull couldn't help his smile, putting his hand over hers and gently squeezing in reassurance. “Thanks, Josie.” He would never burden her with the things he had done, the things he had seen, but to see this tiny woman so ferociously determined to help him however she could made him feel just the smallest bit more at peace. “I appreciate it.”

She nodded, and gently knocked their shoulders together. He stared at her, baffled.

“Did I do it wrong?” she asked, looking up at him. “I was told that's a sign of camaraderie.”

Bull barely held in a laugh, grinning helplessly. “No, no, you did it right.”

“Good.” 

The door swung open and Maevaris walked in, dressed in sleek blue and looking as beautiful as ever. Josephine stood, brushing down her dress and looking almost flustered. Herah and Cullen followed behind her, looking over some papers.

“This is such a magnificent building,” Maevaris said, spotting the treats and starting to inch her way over to them. “Those windows in there are truly spectacular.”

“Yes, quite,” Josephine said, but Bull turned his attention to Herah.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low as Maevaris started trying to steal the pastries, “Herah, I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” She looked exhausted, dark rings under her eyes. “Can it wait half an hour so I can catch a nap?”

“Now,” he insisted. “Where did you send Dorian?”

Herah frowned, handing the papers off to Cullen. “I didn't send Dorian anywhere. You said he wasn't coming with us.”

“Dorian hasn't been in his rooms since we left, and no one's seen him anywhere around Skyhold. I asked around. Solas said that Felix told him Dorian was being sent off on some secret mission or something.” Bull could feel a bit of panic starting to thrum under his ribs and squashed it, forcing himself to focus. “You didn't send him anywhere?”

“Nowhere,” Herah said, her face gone pale. She bolted for the door and Bull followed. She led them up the winding stairs to the bedroom, where Felix for once was sitting at the desk and teaching a group of students advanced division. He looked up as they came up the stairs, surprised. His smile faded at the looks on their faces.

He put his chalk away, nodding to the students. “That will be all for today. Please go to the Tower for your next lessons, and give your teachers my apologies for letting you out early.” The group scrambled up from poufs on the floor and shoved their notebooks into bags. Bull and Herah got some quick greetings as the group hustled down the stairs. Felix rolled out from around the desk on the rolling chair Dagna had devised for him, concerned. “What's the matter? You both look like something awful's happened.”

“Did Dorian tell you where he went?” Herah asked.

Felix frowned, grabbing a roll of paper off the desk. “Not specifically. In his note he just said he'd be gone for about a week on his mission and I wasn't to worry.”

Herah let out a blistering curse in Qunlat that had Bull jerking in surprise, and took the paper from Felix' hand.

“Dear Felix,” she read, “I must be away for a week or so to work on a mission. It's a rather secretive one, my friend, so do not be concerned with where I am going, for now. I will be back soon, and bring you a souvenir from my little jaunt about. Please forgive my handwriting, it's still atrocious. I would have just left but I knew you'd worry if I didn't send this along up to you. Your most adoring fan, Dorian.”

“Damn,” Bull muttered, sitting down hard on one of the nearby chairs. His legs had suddenly given out. “Damn it, Dorian.”

“I take it Dorian _wasn't_ actually on a mission,” Felix said, his eyes going hard as flint. “He left the same day you did.”

“No, he was not,” Herah said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, _fuck_. He wouldn't...”

“I can almost guantee you, he would,” Felix said, “regardless of whatever it is.”

Herah ran a hand over her braids, eyes frantic. “Felix, he got a letter from his father saying he wanted Dorian to meet with a retainer in Redcliffe the day that we left.”

Felix grabbed the arms of his chair, taking a steadying breath, and whispered something that sounded like a prayer in Ancient Tevene. “He's gone for Redcliffe for certain then. Maker take and preserve him, I am going to strangle his pretty neck.” Felix levered himself out of his chair, grabbing his cane from near the bed. He pulled up his shirt and ran a finger over some complicated looking sigils tattooed on his stomach, which vanished. A ball of golden light emerged, then sank into his hand. He straightened, looking better than he hand in months. “That's two days worth of extra energy, let's go.”

“The fuck was that?” Bull demanded as they made their way downstairs.

“Magical storage tattoos,” Felix explained. “They're a technique that was developed by gladiators. You siphon off your own magical power into a sort of reservoir, and a tattoo artist creates a sigil that they're poured into. I've been gathering mine for years and years, I use it so rarely, so I can adapt it to my needs. It's pure energy at this point.”

“That's all well and good,” Herah said, “but how are you going to handle horseback when that runs out?”

“I've got a full months worth on me,” Felix said, “just for after the wedding, you know. A little bit of extra time.”

“It figures the world would see fit to give me a soulmate on the brink of death,” Herah muttered viciously, and the group burst into the Great Hall just in time for Maevaris to yell, “Darling!” and swing her arms around Dorian. Bull sagged in relief, his legs nearly giving out.

Dorian was filthy from the road but looked like a new man. His smile was blinding and _real_ , for once, his hair starting to get long again. His travel gear was muddy, but he looked as if he'd just come from a week long spa treatment, not what had clearly been hard riding and bad food. Dorian was chatting with Maevaris, fussing with her hair and laughing as she flicked at his coat. It was the one he'd once owned, now fitting him like a glove again.

“I'm going to kill him,” Felix said cheerfully, and strode over to them.

Dorian beamed at Felix, then winced as he saw Herah and Bull's faces. “Uh-oh. You figured it out, then.”

“ _Dorian Gideon Aurelius fau Asariel lo Qarinus Pavus you had better have a damn good explanation for all of this._ ”

oOo

Dorian, in atypical fashion, had refused to give a clear answer despite Felix clearly wanting to shake him til he said something. After a good fifteen minutes of no real answer, Felix had thrown his hands in the air. Herah, already exhausted, had fallen asleep in a chair in the meantime. The two of them went back up to bed, and Dorian had been foisted off on Bull with none of his good mood remaining. Bull silently followed him up to his room, and closed the door behind him as they went in.

“I know you went to Redcliffe. What were you thinking, just taking off alone, without telling anyone where the crap you went?” Bull demanded as Dorian tossed his gear on the bed.

“Cole came with me, I was hardly alone.”

“Dorian!”

Dorian turned on him, crossing his arms. “Am I my own person or not, Bull?”

“You’re your own person, but you’re also running around like you-“ Bull broke off, unable to keep going. “I was worried.”

Dorian bit his lip but shook his head, turning back to his bed. “I had Cole with me, I was perfectly safe.”

“I wouldn’t call that being safe,” Bull muttered, running a hand over his face. “Felix is beyond angry.”

“I noticed that on my own, thank you” Dorian sighed, sitting on the bed. “But I- I _had_ to do this alone. Without anyone who could interfere, without anyone who would fight me on what was best for me.” He looked up at Bull, and Bull lowered his eye. “Bull, I haven’t been left to my own devices for nearly 8 years. Every single day, I had someone hovering over me, making my decisions for me. What I dressed in, how I carried myself, what jewelry I was allowed to wear, where I went, what time I ate. Every last detail of my life has been planned out around someone else. I can’t keep living like that, I can’t just-“ his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I can’t just keep living life like I’m a pet that keeps changing hands. I should be my own person.”

Bull nodded, sighing. “You’re right,” he said reluctantly. It felt like pulling teeth admitting it, but it was the truth. Now that Dorian was in front of him, alive and in the flesh, it was impossible to be angry. He was just too tired of it all, and to relieved that Dorian was even alive. 

Dorian looked relieved, some of the stiffness in his spine disappearing. “Thank you.”

Bull sat on the chair, licking his lips. Now was a good a time as any to keep throwing his life directly into the dung heap. “So, uh. What do you want to do here? You and me, we’re a mess. Each of us, I mean. And… and _us_.”

Dorian smiled a little, pulling his legs up to sit cross legged on the bed. “We are a pair, aren’t we?”

Bull chuckled, a swell of emotion closing his throat.

“I want-“ Dorian broke off, covering his mouth and looking to the side. Once he’d composed himself again he said, “I want to leave the Chargers for six months. Give me half a year to learn who I am again, and then I’ll decide if I want to come back, if- if that’s the right life for me. The library needs an archivist, and the children need a full time teacher for battle magic. I can teach, I- I can _help_ , in a way that others can’t. There are so many children, Bull. Half a year, and I’ll know if I should leave with you, or stay here.” The _if we make it that long_ lingered in the air, unsaid.

“Alright,” Bull said, his heart aching. “Okay. Half a year. Whatever you need.”

Dorian’s lips quivered, and he cleared his throat. “Bull.”

“Yeah?”

Dorian tried to speak, and his voice failed. Bull bit his lip as Dorian struggled, nothing coming out, and his shoulders slumped. 'I could really use a hug.' He signed.

Bull rose, opening his arms, and wrapped Dorian up tight. Dorian clung to him, pressing his face into his chest.

“It’s okay,” Bull murmured. “You don't have to face him ever again, _kadan_. I'm still here for you, and the Chargers are too, and even Felix when he stops being so scared.”

Dorian traced a heart on his back, and Bull pressed his face to Dorian's hair, his eyes stinging.

oOo

It was a long, quiet walk back to his room. Bull refused to rush, making himself stroll as if it were just another casual day in the castle, as if the whole world wasn't crumbling apart around him. He nodded to cook maids and the footmen, smiled politely at those he passed, and made his way up the tavern steps without much fuss. The Chargers didn't try and stop him as he passed, a small mercy. He opened the door to his room and stepped inside, only to stare around in shock.

The room looked like it no longer belonged to him. All of his things were there, certainly, but the hole in the ceiling was fixed. A handsome rug sat on the floor, fires burned in a pair of braziers, and furniture had been added. A comfortable quilt was on the bed, the pillows looked wonderful, and it appeared he had a new mattress entirely. A weapons stand held all of his gear, an armor stand doing the same with a new shoulder brace and the Dread helm on it, and a desk big enough for a qunari had somehow been wrangled into the room into a corner. He closed the door and bolted it, going over to do the same to the others. He took the room in with a bit of guilt. It was exactly the kind of room that Dorian would love.

A letter sat on the desk, and he picked it up. The seal was a plain dot of grey wax, uninspiring, and he broke it open.

_The Iron Bull,_ it began, Leliana's familiar jagged letters staring out at him. _I have taken the liberty of fixing a few things for you. I was informed that you would no longer be allowed to report to the Qun. My sorrows for your sorrows, the Iron Bull. I cannot say I know exactly how it will be, but I know it will be difficult to adjust to. Despite my reputation, I do value my friends, and I would like to see you have some comforts in these trying times. When you are more settled, please visit me. I may not know all, but I have an ear to listen and a bottle of good wine I would share with a friend. Yours, Leliana_

That, more than anything, made reality crash in on him. 

Bull sat heavily on the bed, ripping off his eyepatch and pressing his hands to his face. Crying was a thing he rarely let himself indulge in- his eye socket always ached, for one thing- but he couldn't help it now. He was horribly, horribly alone. No partner, no Qun, no one who really knew what had happened. He'd been cut off, severed. His number would be scrubbed from the records like all the other Tal Vashoth he'd helped put down, the records of Seheron reading only the tale of a Hissrad who'd gone mad, the reports from the continent bare of anything but the title of Hissrad-Tal Vashoth attached. He had failed a country for the sake of a few, the sacrifice he never knew he would be able to make. There was nothing to be done now but sit in silence and wait for the assassins to come. It wouldn't be like Seheron, where he had led teams into the Tal Vashoth camps and beheaded each one with businesslike swings, putting down mad things for the sake of others. No, they would make him suffer. He had gone through re-education, and still failed the Qun. Hopeless. 

Almost without thinking, he went to the chest at the end of his bed. Flicking his tears away, he opened it, and dug through the contents to remove the false bottom. Inside were four bottles, much bigger than the ones he'd used to train Krem. They would be easy to drink, all the way down. Two bottles of qamek would be more than enough to make him placid, quiet in the head. No more worries, no more thoughts. He'd go down quiet, without a fight. Maybe, if he were lucky, the assassins would find him pliant and take him home.

No.

They would never waste time with something like him, not now.

He took the bottles out, rolling them through his fingers on his destroyed left hand.

It would be so easy. So very, very easy. He closed the trunk and put the bottles on the desk, staring blankly at them. He would have to write a letters to everyone. Well, a few at least. Tell Herah that she deserved to be happy. Tell Krem it wasn't his fault. Tell Dorian – Tell Dorian he deserved a good man, a better man. Someone who could bring him genuine happiness and not torture and cruelty. Tell Leliana she was worth more than all of Orlais.

He picked up the first bottle, looking at the liquid inside. It was like moonstone, always shifting in color, hypnotic and rainbow. The liquid always seemed like it was reluctant to move against the glass, trying to cling to the edges of it. He twisted it in the light. If he drank all four he could simply lay down on the bed, close his eyes, and never wake again. A quiet, shameful death, for a shameful man.

A knock on the door startled him, and he quickly stowed the bottles away in the desk. His patch, he found, was now torn to the point of being unwearable. He covered his eye socket with one hand and went to the door. “Who is it?”

“Open up, you idiot,” Shokrakar said through the door. “Or I swear on the Goddess' tits I'll bust it down.”

He reluctantly threw the bolt and pulled it open. Shokrakar carried a basket that looked comically small in her huge hands, and stepped in.

“What do you want?” he asked, unwilling to put up a front of hospitality.

“You and me,” Shokrakar said, dragging out one of the qunari sized chairs, “we're gonna have a little chat, because there are some things that our little Herah doesn't know about and one of those is how to deal with this shit. Sit the fuck down and have some pie.”

With extreme reluctance, Bull shut the door and sat. Shokrakar handed him one of the little fruit pastries that Fereldans loved so much, and he bit into it with some relish. Qunandar had never gotten the hang of sweet goods. 

Shokrakar cracked open the dark bottle in her basket and took a long drink before passing it over to him. He sniffed it, recoiling a little. “The fuck is this?”

“It's called Sorrows,” Shokrakar said. “Vashoth make it. It's like hot blood wine, but nastier.”

Bull grimaced, but drank anyway. It burned worse than Maraas-lok, and he grimaced as his eye watered. “No kidding.” The aftertaste was pleasant, though, something like a mix of cinnamon and mint without being cloying. “So, what are you doing in my room?”

Shokrakar grimaced, looking out the window. Her scars were in profile, ugly as ever. “There's some things we've got to talk about. Hissrad won't come up, he's too scared to face you. So I have to do this bit. Lucky you, getting some proper explanation.” Her smile twisted wryly, the eyes dead. Bull took another one of the little pies, waiting. 

“There's a lot of Tal-Vashoth out there,” Shokrakar said at last. “All different kinds, all different stories. Some Seheron survivors, some defectors, some nasty bastards who couldn't take it, some lovers who just wanted peace. Those who couldn't face reeducation, those who fled occupation. Those who chose to leave, those forced to leave, those who still don't know how they feel about the Qun and everything associated with it. You killed some of them. A lot of them, really. Lots of us, now, and you damn well better get used to that word because surviving on your own is a hard and miserable thing, The Iron Bull. There are communities of Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth, good people and bad. Bandits and robbers, blacksmiths and weavers, farmers and murderers. The whole scope of being, spread out in all of us. And no two places are the same. Herah's hometown is a nightmare for most. They call it Little Qunandar, when those folks aren't listening.” She took another drink from the Sorrows bottle, wincing at the bite. “And as with everywhere, there are secret things. Hidden things.”

Bull listened silently, taking the bottle when she offered it.

“Like what?” he asked after a drink.

Shokrakar looked at him, her eyes dark and hard. “Things you'll learn about in time. Places that can help people like us. Houses of healing, you could call them. Sacred places, not to any gods or Goddess or anything, but sacred none the less. I go there, when I can. About once a year, to get my head on straight. But besides that, we've been invited to the Congress, and I want you to come. Every five years, the communities gather up for a congress to take a census, make laws, exchange information, that sort of thing. Herah will have to go. I want you to come, with her or with me or on your own. This year, Bettani is hosting it. Herah's home, the place of her nightmares. Don't make her go alone, no matter how much Tal-Vashoth blood is on your hands.” She huffed out a sigh. “We're old, for fighters. We've been used up and spat out, given everything and tossed aside regardless. The world isn't as black and white as it seems, The Iron Bull. Not everyone can cut themselves down to fit a box, and not everyone can grow again after being chopped down to a stump.” 

She stood up, leaving the basket, and went to the door. She paused with her hand on it, and looked back at him with eyes hard as ice.

“And don't make me find you in the After, because I will drag you from the feet of the Goddess to make you apologize to Herah if you burn your mind away.”

Bull looked down at the floor as she left, and blinked back a few leftover tears.

Just until he could get away. He could live til the end of the Inquisition. And there were many ways for someone to die in the line of duty. Herah didn't have to be burdened with a mindless thing after all. Maybe just a corpse, when it came down to it. He could make it until the Inquisition came to its end, when he had no purpose any more. 

“Just until then,” he whispered, and looked out the window towards the mountains. They loomed in the distance, remote and heartless. Stone and snow did not care what crashed against it. It was immovable, built so firmly upon its own base that there would be no shifting it til the end of time. Bull wiped at his eye again, taking a steadying breath.

An abrupt, alarming shriek filled the air and he about jumped out of his skin. He looked around, seeing nothing, and crossed to the window. Carefully, he looked out. Still nothing. Frowning, he looked up, and barely managed to catch a nest that was sliding down from the sill above his window. 

“What the-”

A tiny, fuzzy thing that was beyond hideous shrieked at him, a great beak gaping wide open in the nest that now sat in his hands.

Bull stared at the little bundle. It was a nestling, extremely tiny, and very loud.

“Uh,” he managed, very succinctly. “Shit.”

He craned his head out the window, unsure what to do. And then he looked down again, spotting a small, broken body on a jutted stone. White, tan, and blue feathers rustled slightly in the wind, and his heart clenched.

“Oh, no,” he said, looking back at the nestling. It closed its huge beak and stared at him with tiny, beady eyes. “Krem's going to have a field day with this.”


	37. Broken Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts out fairly light but gets dark at the end.
> 
> PLEASE SEE THE END NOTE FOR ELABORATION ON THE TRIGGER WARNINGS.
> 
> TW for blood, attempted murder, disassociation, discussion about suicide, stabbings, torture, broken bones.

**“Some times,**  
**there's nothing to say but “fuck it”**  
**and carry on with life regardless.”**

**From the letters of Wynne of Kinloch Hold, 9:32 Dragon.**

oOo

“It's a house martin,” the falconer said dryly as Bull stared at the tiny, guzzling thing on his table. The Falconer, a lanky and unusual man by the name of Tail, was as much a mystery as anyone else in Skyhold with the added bonus of technically being a noble due to his marriage to an Orlesian lady. He had gold incisors, grey-blond hair in a pony tail down his back, an accent that managed to be both Free Marcher and Fereldan, six children, and extreme bow legs. “Clever little things, for house birds. Not really a pet, more like a meal for one of these guys.” He gestured at the hooded hawks around them in the mews, all of them tethered down and more or less settled.

“What should I do with it?”

Tail looked up, considering him. The little baby was eating some sort of horrific smelling mash that Tail had made, and had blessedly stopped screaming at last.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “if you want, I can hand rear it. I've the time right now, the missus and the kidlets are out to Val Royeaux for the next month. No guarantee it'll live either way, and it won't be a pet. Eventually it'll fly on its own, either find a mate or get eaten by something bigger than it is.”

Bull was almost pathetically grateful that he didn't suggest killing the little thing. “I've raised birds before. We had a few on Seheron, pigeons that ran messages. I know how much work babies are. I'd take it myself but I'm gone too much. What do I need to feed it? I'll get you anything you need and help where I can.”

Tail's mouth twitched in a smile, and he handed the baby off to Bull, now fast asleep. “I'll make you a list and a schedule. Once we're past the dangerous part, she'll be yours once she gets to be a fledgling. I've got this lot to take care of too. That sound fair?”

“Perfect,” Bull said, looking down at the little thing.

“Check in with me daily, whenever you can,” Tail said. “Now, go get our little friend situated in one of the cages.”

Bull carried the little thing over to one of the smaller cages, taking the nest with him and setting it inside. It had fallen asleep at last, and he sat on a chair to watch it. Its bulbous little eyes were closed, the oversized beak a vivid orange. The little bird had a smattering of feathers at least, even if they were tufty and downy, going this way and that. He gently placed a handkerchief over it to help keep it warm, grateful for the small braziers in the mews, and propped his chin in his hand.

He wasn't much for religion, even that of the Goddess, but he wasn't about to ignore a sign when it landed right in his hands. At least the martin would be something to focus on besides his own depression. Even if it wasn't in his room and he wasn't the only one caring for it, it was still... his, somehow. 

“Something I think you might be interested in,” Tail said, coming up behind him. “Since we'll be seeing a good bit of each other the next little while, want to learn about caring for this lot as well?” He motioned to the hooded hunting birds. “I could use an extra hand.”

New skills were always useful. Bull looked at the birds, thought about the beauty of them with spread wings, soaring high above.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think I'd like that.”

oOo

It was a cold, bitter morning when Dorian woke up. He lay silently in bed, listening to the chirping of the birds and watching as the sunlight made dappled shadows with his plants on the wall. It would be his first full day back. His first full day as a new person, even.

Slowly he got out of bed, stretching as he went. A near week in the saddle did nothing for your bones, and he wasn't getting any younger. The scars on his shoulders and lower back ached in the early morning airs bite. He took time working his shoulders loose, and when he no longer felt quite like an elderly man he changed into his training clothes. Vivienne had been kind enough to have his new things brought while he was away. The shirts and coats were especially wonderful, but he was especially excited about the new armor. 

His leather breeches had added decoration and stitching now, as well as some carefully placed metal pieces to protect his legs. Simple leather bracers were followed by a fitted leather vest fitted with a cotton interior. A wide, decorative wrap cover went on next, this one made of leftover scraps in a hodgepodge of pleasing colors. A belt held it in place, followed by a bandolier-pauldron combination that coordinated ( _Maker bless Vivienne, it coordinated!_ ) with a belt that had hooks for potions, a spell book holder, knives, and a belt purse. Last of all there were proper boots with knee plates, off to the side for the moment. Brushing it down, he looked in his mirror and smiled at what he saw.

“Much better,” he said thoughtfully. His hair was long enough to run fingers through it, his mustache was back to its usual curled state, and the man in the mirror looked like a proper fighter. He'd gained back much of the muscle mass he'd lost, toned up and honestly looked like a force to be reckoned with again. “Much, much better.”

He pulled on his boots, fastening the straps down to keep the metal plates in place, and was about to leave when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called, “it's open.”

The door opened to reveal Fiona, and he sat up in surprise. “Oh, hello Grand Enchanter.”

“Please,” she said with a wry smile, “I should think we are past titles, Dorian.”

He smiled, and inclined his head. “Very well. How can I help you?”

She stepped inside, leaving the door ajar. “I simply wished to see that you were feeling well. Solas was too stubborn to come see for himself, of course. But we have missed you this past little while.”

Dorian ducked his head, smiling wide as his heart swelled. “You're too kind.”

“I believe you'll find I'm not,” she retorted, smiling. “At least, not if you ask my little ones. Marcella and Sabine have been pestering me as well as to your location.”

“They're good children,” Dorian said, laughing a little. “Brighter things with brighter futures.”

“Indeed they are,” Fiona said, chuckling. The laugh faded, and her eyes darkened. Dorian cocked his head as she clasped her hands together, and straightened. 

“Fiona?”

She held up one hand, looking away to hide her face. Dorian hesitated. 

“You must forgive me if some days I act heartless towards you,” she said after a moment. “We have a similar history, you and I, and the man who owned me when I was young shared your name. I have been trying to find a way to speak to you about it, but been unable to find the words. But I would, if you are willing, like to perhaps talk together. Ease our collective burdens. I should think we both could find some solace, speaking to each other.”

Dorian swallowed hard. “Of course, Fiona. I... I rather think I'd like that as well.”

Fiona turned to him and gave him a slight smile. Dorian gathered his training staff and the wrist knives he'd purchased while on the way back from Redcliffe, and together they made their way to the library. Solas was waiting on the upper level, pretending to be occupied with a book, and Dorian hid a smile as he walked over.

“Anything interesting?”

Solas closed the book with a snap. “Nothing whatsoever. Are you well?”

Dorian beamed at him. “Better than ever.”

Solas eyed him, and sighed. “Of course. Are you going to train this morning, or am I to be listening to you delight in the sound of your own voice for all hours?”

“I missed you too,” Dorian informed him, and pulled him into a hug. Solas made a noise that could best be described as an offended squeak, but didn't pull away. Instead, he very tentatively patted Dorian's back before being let go. 

“You are a terrible headache,” Solas informed him with no real heat. 

“It's been said, many times, by many people.” Dorian grinned at him again, and Solas' lips twitched before he could school his face. “I'm going to train first, and go beg forgiveness from Felix, run some errands, all the little things that I didn't get to do while I was away. And _then_ you'll be subjected to my most dulcet tones.”

Solas rolled his eyes, but not too hard. “I stand on pins and tenterhooks.” Dorian clasped his shoulder, and Solas casually brushed him off with a bit of a smile. “Away with you, then.” 

Dorian gave him a quick wave before jogging down the stairs, through the Great Hall, and out to the training grounds. This early in the morning it was blessedly free. Cullen loathed heavy training in the early morning as it made his joints into a mountain of pain, and the Chargers were rarely willing to get up before noon unless Krem was in a bad mood and wanted to inflict it on them all. Two of the Valo-kas were going through their paces, both of them knife fighters and extremely agile. Cassandra was, as usual, beating up some poor dummy (this time, a living human who had clearly drawn the short straw), and to Dorian's surprise both Blackwall and Sera were there as well. He pulled his training glaive out of its holder, checked that he'd have enough space, and started his warm up exercises. He took his time with each form, pushing himself to land each foot and stroke precisely. The wrist knives made things different, but he adjusted them to the right spots and carried on. 

The worst part about the new armor was that it was much different from what he usually wore. A jerkin with mail rings had usually been the extent of it. This was heavier by far. Each form took more effort and care to land, and the battledances that he could do smooth as butter felt leaden when he tried them. He pushed past it, refusing to give in. He'd let himself go bare long enough. 

He thought on that as he worked through his practice. Odd, to feel so much more exposed with his skin covered and armor on. But then, of course, for that last near year all that anyone had seen of him was someone constantly near naked. Clothes always felt odd, now, having spent so much time out of them. He was just an item to be viewed without them. Now, with fashionable things on, he had decorated himself to _be_ seen. Personality on display, instead of mere flesh. 

With a final, vicious swing and arial he closed the pattern of the dance and straightened. Not shabby, certainly, but far from what any of his teachers would have expected of him. Even Gereon, out of practice as he was, could probably trounce him on the field if he was wearing such heavy gear. 

Grimly he adjusted his grip on the glaive. No use finishing up until he was soaked with sweat and barely able to move his legs.

Dorian started the dance again, and again, and again.

Finally, when he was dripping sweat, he let himself start the slower stretches to cool down.

“Heard you used to shit gold,” a voice said to his side. He didn't flinch, having seen Sera coming.

“Used to is the right way of putting it,” he said, slowing further. Sera sat crosslegged on a bench, watching. “No more gold shitting for me.”

“Are the people in Tevinter like you, Dorian?”

He slowed to a stop, finishing the final flourish of the dance and letting his staff thud on the ground. “Pardon?” He picked up his towel from its place on a post. 

Sera shrugged, watching him with narrowed eyes. “You know. Not scary, keeping the magic rubbish to themselves.”

Dorian snorted. “I'll take that as a compliment. Sadly, there's an element there that would welcome Corypheus with open arms. Tevinter hasn't changed being any more stupidly short sighted since my unceremonious departure.”

“I know, right?” Sera gave him a sudden, blinding grin. “He's a pissbag.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Quite.” 

She jumped bonelessly off the bench and waved. “Gonna go get Josie worked up. See you.”

Dorian waved back, a little bemused, but pleased none the less. He couldn't help smiling all the way to the baths. Finally, after months of being only marginally willing to even talk to him, it seemed like Sera was starting to warm up to him.

oOo

Gereon Alexius was one of Skyhold's best kept secrets. After a bath and a change into plain breeches, white shirt, and a sleeveless overrobe in a wonderful burgundy, Dorian stood in front of the door to one of the quiet little rooms in the main tower. It was unremarkable as any other save that it was marked with wards and a polite note on the chalkboard that all the doors had for the servants that read “Entry permitted by edict only”. Gereon had been sequestered away as soon as they had arrived in Skyhold, first in the rather alarming dungeons and then in one of the rooms meant to contain guests as a sort of house arrest. Herah had felt a bit guilty about keeping her beloved's father in the dungeon.

Dorian adjusted his shirt and overrobe for the fifth time, taking a deep breath. Finally, he raised his hand and rapped on the door.

It opened almost instantly, and he looked into the face of a Knight Enchanter with buzz cut and a thrice broken nose. She eyed him warily. 

“Dorian Pavus,” he said, speaking carefully to avoid the stutter that kept coming back to bite him whenever his anxiety flared up. “I'm one of the I-i-i-inner Circle. Herah has-s-s given me permission to be here.” He held out the scroll and its seal. The Knight Enchanter took it, and it was engulfed temporarily in blue fire before being handed back to him. The Knight Enchanter opened the door and let him in. 

It was a smaller room, quiet, with large desks, a bed, endless bookshelves crammed with books and notes, and an armoire that had seen much better days. Some very complex lab equipment sat on one of the desks amid a pile of papers, and Tana was sitting bent over one of the piles with Gereon himself. They appeared deep in conversation, Tana looking somehow regal in a simple grey cotton dress with minimal trim and her hair in the double braid bun favored by the Fereldans, and Gereon healthier than in ages in a simple shirt, vest, and pants. Both of them wore reinforced boots, presumably to avoid any accidents while working.

Dorian cleared his throat, and the pair turned to look at him.

“Dorian.” Gereon looked like he wanted nothing more than to run to him, but propriety constrained them both. Dorian took in every haggard line, the faint stubble, the eternally shaved head. Some things never changed. Despite everything that he'd done, Gereon was the closest thing he'd ever had to a true father. 

Dorian quickly put his hands to his thighs, bowing from the hips. “Pardon,” he said, his voice catching a little. “Queen Tana, if I could have a word with Serah Gereon?”

Tana stood up in a rustle of fine cloth, nodding. “Of course. I'll wait outside until you've finished.”

“Thank you.”

Tana nodded to the guards, who reluctantly followed her out and closed the door. Gereon clasped his hands together, not quite able to hide how they shook.

Dorian strode over to him and pulled him into a hug. Gereon returned it fiercely, clutching him tight and cupping the back of his head as if he were nothing more than a child. He felt so much smaller now, thin where once he'd been built broad and dangerous as any fighter.

“Oh, my boy,” Gereon whispered. “They said you were free, but you look better than I imagined.”

Dorian pulled back, wiping at his eyes. “I saw Father and told him h-h-h-h-he could stick his alarm in his w-w-wits end.” 

Gereon's eyes widened, and he gently cupped Dorian's face in his hands. “You are well, then? Nothing has happened? Dorian, please tell me that you did not knowingly go to face Halward on your own. You know full well what he's capable of doing in a rage, how high a death count he has. Please tell me you at least took someone with you.”

“I did. One person,” Dorian admitted. “And they followed me, I didn't really take them.”

Gereon looked skyward, shaking his head. “Am I doomed to idiot sons for eternity?” He demanded of the ceiling. “Maker above, explain to me the lesson in having headstrong idiots.”

Dorian couldn't quite help his smile, ducking his head a little. “You would have been proud.”

Gereon huffed, ruffling his hair. “Please. As if I weren't already proud of you, you great lump of a boy. You and Felix are my pride and joy, and you damn well know it. Come, please, join her Majesty and I while we work on this. Between the both of us we believe we're close to a breakthrough. Even if Felix is too far along to be saved, others may yet survive.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Not to put to fine a point on it, but that's a much saner approach than you once took.”

Gereon sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Master Tethras keeps coming in and making me talk about things. I can't decide if it's genius or just another sort of spy technique, but... I am finally coming to terms with many things that have happened. Livia dead, you presumably dead, Felix being taken from me; things that were out of my control, after a lifetime of being told that surely one of us would save the world. Livia...” he swallowed hard, and Dorian had to clear his throat a few times as well. “Livia saved so many lives with her work, after all. I've never pretended to be anything other than a murderer. I took my seat in the Magesterium because Livia and I conspired to kill my father so my son could live as he pleased. I've killed three magisters in trial combat, four more when they wouldn't get out of the way of progress. I have never been a good man, Dorian, and some things that I know I should regret I don't. But here we have an opportunity to make real change, save real lives and some of the future. I'm already Void-taken but we'll see yet if I can't even out some of that blood from the ledger.”

He sighed again, and picked up a sheaf of papers. “And how was Halward?”

“Madder than you,” Dorian said, sitting in Tana's vacated chair. “He thought I'd want to go back.”

“Mad indeed,” Gereon muttered, eyes narrowing. “I've spoken with Magister Tilani about him as well. Seems he's wound up on the _budget_ committee, how dreadful. I'm certain Aquinea has thoughts about that.”

“She wasn't inclined to share them if she did,” Dorian said. “She came and left a while ago.”

Gereon shook his head, organizing some of the papers. “I don't know, Dorian. I've been a reformer all my life. Worked on laws to benefit the Soporati, limit the slave trade, improve education, defend us from the Blight and our eternally starving for conquest Northern neighbors, and yet...” He contemplated the view from the windows. “It may yet have been all for nothing. Nightmares loom on every border, and Tevinter herself seems to be thrashing apart in the chaos. Change is inevitable, but progress? Progress is only enacted piece by clawed up piece.” His eyes darkened. “I hate to think of Radonis sitting in council with Halward having his ear. There's no love lost between us as you well know.”

“I know.”

Dorian took the papers from his unmoving hands, looking over the diagrams and neatly written words there. He read a few lines, paused, and read a few move. He looked up to find Gereon smiling slightly, his eyes soft.

“Would you care to join us?” Gereon said. “I didn't pluck you out of the candidates for apprentice just for your looks, Dorian. Maker knows how much faster we would have progressed with you here to work with us this whole time.”

Dorian felt his cheeks heat up. “You didn't pluck me out of a _brothel_ just for my looks, but you damn well didn't know I was an enchanter at the time, Gereon.”

Gereon gave a one shouldered shrug. “It worked out.”

“Have you ever told Felix about that?”

Gereon cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do _you_ want to tell him about the fact that we shared nighttime habits long before the two of you met? I've no intention of informing my son that I once accidentally propositioned his best friend.”

Dorian snorted, unable to help his smile. “You're no fun at all.”

“Brat,” Gereon said mildly, lips twitching.

“It's been said.” Dorian stood up. “I'll fetch her majesty.”

oOo

They met not in the tavern, but along the broken wall that looked to never be fully repaired. Dorian waited for them there around sundown, dressed in his plain clothes, no weapons, no collar, and only his bare skin facing the Maker. No rich overrobes here, only him as he was. The others sat on tumble down blocks, and Dorian looked over them one by one. Krem looked resigned, his eyes pinched with sorrow. Grim braced his arms on his knees, curled in on himself, and Dorian swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“There's a lot of things I could say,” he began, and cleared his throat again. “But first, let me say how much I love you. You're my family, my real family, and this past year has been the most wonderful one in my entire life. I've seen so much joy and happiness with you, more than enough to balance out the tragedies in the mean time. All of you, you've made my life worth living. You've made me into a better person, and one who can finally face the future head on.” He took a deep breath, blinking back a few stray tears. “And for now, it's time for me to quit officially being part of the Chargers. For six months, at least. I'm going to teach, and work on myself, and practice being Dorian Pavus, whoever he is. I'm going to take control of my life again, and in six months we'll see where I stand.”

Skinner nodded, a quick, blunt thing, and gave him a grin. Stitches sniffled a little before manfully clearing his throat, but Rocky just beamed at him. Grim's smile was gentle, Krem looked more than a little teary, and Dalish got up to fling her arms around him. He hugged her back fiercely, burying his face in her shoulder.

“We're so proud of you, brother,” she said, kissing the top of his head, and Dorian lost the fight with his tears. The others gathered around, and Dorian was buried in a pile of hugs. He let himself shed a couple tears before shrugging the lot of them off, clearing his throat.

“Right, well, that's all said and done. Now, I finally have coins burning a hole in my pocket, so let's get rather riotously drunk and have a good time.”

This statement was met with cheers, and Dorian let Krem drape an arm over him as they traipsed down to the tavern. The Rest was full of the other Chargers, who cheered when they came in, and Dorian made his way to the bar. Cabot looked resigned, but brightened when Dorian put down his pay and grinned at him. 

“Clearing your tab or just expanding it?” Cabot asked.

“I'll let you know.”

Getting drunk didn't take that long. 

Getting drunker took even less time.

The others were somewhere between passed out on the table or dancing on it. Dorian took another long drink and set the bottle down. Enough was enough. He inched past Krem, who was having a damn good time with one of the barmaids judging by how they were kissing, and made his way to the stairs. They swam in front of him and he narrowed his eyes. They wouldn't get the better of him. Holding on to the railing he made his way up to the second floor, and then up again to the third, one foot in front of the other. Once he'd finally reached the third he went to the little entrance to Bull's room. It took a bit of doing before he got to the door, and he let out a little triumphant laugh once he managed it.

Dorian's fingers scrabbled at the handle and finally got it in his hand, growling when it wouldn't open. He glared at it angrily, leaning against the door, and rattled it.

“-said _no_ ,” Bull's voice said inside, and the door was yanked open. Dorian stumbled into the room, falling into Bull's arms. 

“Hullo,” he said into Bull's chest, and giggled.

“Dorian,” Bull said, sounding unreasonably exasperated, “what are you doing?”

Dorian grabbed Bull's arm so he could stand up and look at him. With great dignity, ignoring how the room seemed to be tilting a little, he said, “I am coming to your bed, The Iron Bull.”

Bull looked unimpressed. Rude. “Not in this state you're not.”

“You shant be rid of me.” Dorian poked his chest, aiming for the center and somehow missing by a good few inches. “Not at all. Never ever. You are just too... much. All of you. Just so much and so, so-” He could feel himself tearing up and couldn't really care, because Bull was _wonderful_. “You are so _much_ , amatus, you are just so delightfully much. And soft. Pillowy man-bosoms or whatever Varric says they are, you are so much and so soft and so good and I love you so _much_ , The Iron Bull, even when you drive me up the blasted wall with being so abominably kind. And all wrong and all wonderful and too much for any one man. _Why_ don't you use ropes on me anymore?” That came out a good deal more plaintive than he anticipated, but he was also leaking water from his eyes. Tear ducts were so annoying.

Bull looked poleaxed and didn't say anything, so Dorian sniffed and made his way with great amounts of grace to the bed, which he fell onto because the room tilted. “Oof. I can never sleep right without you. Do you think that's bad? I can't ever quite seem to be comfortable enough to lay down and just rest without another body next to me. All these years and I'm too fucked up to sleep alone even now.” Dorian rolled onto his back, sprawling a little. Bull was still standing at the foot of the bed, eye a little narrowed. Dorian patted the bedding. “I'm so dreadfully helpless without you, my love. Why do you get a better bed? Was it because we were fucking? Did you requisition a better _fucking_ bed, The Iron Bull?”

“Pretty sure it's about the same,” Bull said, and sighed. He closed the door and latched it, and latched the other two as well. Dorian pouted.

“You aren't in bed,” he said, and it came out a bit like a whine. Now _he_ was being rude. Dreadful. “Seven years of getting fucked near daily and I still can't get a man in bed, what would Rilienus think of me? Probably that I wasn't a good whore.”

Bull went still, turning around slowly. Dorian yawned, fluffing the pillows a little.

“Come on then,” he said, sleep making his words a little slurred. “I want to sleep and I can't without you. I'm so hopeless, Bull. I'll forgive damn near anything to get some regular sleep again.” He reached out a hand, letting it flop on the bed. “I'm just hopeless. I need you. I hate being away from you. I don't want to be strong. Fix it for me, Bull. Come to bed.”

Bull sat on the bed, taking his hand. Exhaustion finally hit like a hammer, and Dorian sighed in relief.

“Don't go,” he pleaded.

Bull had a strange look on his face, like he wanted to laugh and cry all at once.

“I won't,” he promised, and kissed the back of Dorian's hand. 

“Don't leave me,” Dorian said again, quieter, and sleep claimed him.

oOo

He woke up alone.

Dorian cracked his eyes open carefully, the pounding in his head not making the world seem all that appealing, and cautiously cast his eyes around. The bedside table held a cup of tea that reeked of elfroot and some other noxious herb, and he reluctantly, carefully, sat up and drank it. The pounding immediately stilled, and he looked over to find Bull sitting on a chair beside the window, looking out over the courtyard.

“What's the time?” He asked softly.

“Near noon.” Bull looked over at him. He was without his eyepatch or his shoulder brace, just his soft shoes and the loosest, oldest of the awful pants. “Feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Dorian watched him, relaxing back against the headboard and pushing the pillow up behind him to support his back. Bull turned back to the window, and Dorian saw he was fiddling with some small vial of liquid that gleamed opalescent in the light. “Bull?”

“Hmm?”

Bull seemed distracted, eye fixed on the little bottle.

“What's the matter?”

The vial's slight roll stopped, and Bull let his hand sit flat on the sill of the window. Dorian could hear the sounds of life, drifting around far below them. 

“I never thought it would be like this,” Bull said faintly, not facing him. “Didn't think it'd wind up this way. You know, when you're little, you know how it's all going to go. You've got the world planned out, all of it at your fingertips waiting for the right moment to grab it. Be a fucking hero. Take your chances and make them _yours_ , stamp your mark on them so everyone knows you were there. Save the world one fucking soul at a time. I never thought it'd be like this. Never thought there'd be so much blood for so little reward.”

Dorian's skin crawled with unease, but he stayed silent.

“You were gone, so you didn't hear. I didn't want to tell you like this but fuck it, you're here and I'm here and now's good as ever.” Bull picked up the bottle again, still facing away. “You don't have to worry about the Qun, Dorian. I'm not Qunari anymore. I let Herah tell me to sink an entire fucking dreadnaught to save the Chargers. Now I'm just another number wiped out, just another Tal-Vashoth stuck on the continent. Not mad yet, but who knows. A day, a week... 10 years down the line, I snap... Who's going to give enough of a crap to put me down then?” He ran a hand over his haggard face. 

Dorian climbed out of bed, walking over to stand between his legs. Bull reached up, wrapping his arms around Dorian's waist and dropping his head. Dorian pulled him in, letting Bull rest his head over his heart.

Outside, the shrieks of childrens laughter seemed almost twisted. 

Bull let go after a long time, not able to look him in the eye. “You probably shouldn't be around me, much.”

“Why not?”

Bull looked up at him, his eye dark. “Because I was an asset to the Qun, and they don't like loose ends.”

“Bull-”

Bull stood up, looking away. Dorian was forced to step back, frowning.

“You should leave.”

“But-”

Bull went to his armor stand. “I'm sure you've got work to do, and I need to train.”

“Bull, please.” 

Bull glanced over his shoulder, and went very still as Dorian picked up the vial. Dorian walked over to him, carefully taking his hand. They locked eyes, Bull's face an expressionless mask.

“Please,” Dorian said quietly, “if this is what I think it is, don't. We might not officially be partners any more, but don't ever make the mistake of thinking I don't love you, and wouldn't miss you like a piece of myself if you were gone. I won't delude myself into thinking I can save you if you don't want to be saved, but... please. Please don't do it.”

Bull looked away, and Dorian reached up to cup his cheek. He ran a thumb over the crags of Bull's face, as intimately familiar as his own. 

“Bull,” Dorian said, his voice even softer. “Promise me, if you- if you can't take it any more, that at least you'll say goodbye first.”

Bull sighed, turning his face to kiss Dorian's palm. “I won't kill myself,” he said, his voice more rumble than speech. “I just... fuck, Dorian. Everything hurts. I don't want to go mad. I don't want to have to be put down like some rabid beast, but... fuck. I don't want to live like that.”

Dorian set the vial down so he could take Bull's other hand. “I don't have the right words to comfort you,” he admitted, and Bull's eye closed. “ _I_ don't, but others might. There are plenty of others here who know exactly what you're going through. Others, right in Skyhold, who've dealt with exactly this situation. I can't make you, but it would ease my mind a great deal if you went to speak with them.”

Bull sighed gustily, lowering his head. “I'll think about it.” He kissed Dorian's palm again before stepping away. “I do need to train. Dinner, tonight? I want to tell you the rest.”

“Of course.” Dorian stood on tip toes and kissed his cheek, chaste and familiar. “I'll be in the library.”

He left as Bull was buckling down his shoulder brace, quietly slipping through a very distracted Cullen's office with a wave. He was halfway across the bridge when an elf waved him down.

“Hello,” Dorian said mildly, looking him over. He was tall for an elf, with dark hair in a very messy cut, vibrant green eyes, and clothes that looked like a hodgepodge of Dalish and common attire. His skin was light, with some freckles and a few scars here and there, and two businesslike daggers on his hips. 

“Are you Dorian?”

His accent was... odd. Familiar, yet not.

“As a matter of fact I am,” Dorian said, something half forgotten bothering him. 

The elf smiled, bowing slightly. “My name is Gareth. I've recently arrived, I'm- well, I guess you could say I'm sort of an ambassador. I'm told you have one of the rooms near where mine is supposed to be. I thought if I ran into you, you could show me where it is.”

“Oh!” Dorian blinked, surprised. “I thought all the garden terrace rooms were full.”

Gareth shrugged. “Maybe someone moved? I was just told one was open. Could you show me the way? I got lost.”

“Of course,” Dorian said, waving him on. “This keep is so bloody winding it's impossible to find anything here.”

“So I've noticed,” Gareth said with a quick smile. “And big enough you could walk around for a day or two and hardly run into anyone you know, it seems.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow but Gareth didn't elaborate. They went through the library, Dorian nodding to Helisma as he did. She paused, cocking her head, and he stopped. She straightened her head and considered him a moment before walking away.

“What was that?”

“I'm not sure,” Dorian said absently, watching Helisma go to her pile of things. “Just... odd.” He shook his head and carried on, leading Gareth out the door to the garden terrace. “Here we are.”

“Which one is yours?” Gareth asked curiously. Dorian pointed to the last one. “Right against the wall! What a nice place, so protected from the elements.”

“Indeed. The locks on these doors tend to stick, let me go and fetch my coat before we fight with yours,” Dorian said, walking down to his room. Gareth followed, watching him unlock the door, and Dorian stepped inside. “I'll hardly be a moment.”

“Indeed.”

The door shut with a resolute click, and Dorian flung up a barrier just in time to narrowly miss a knife through the ribs. He was flung backwards, and grabbed for his staff. He missed, Gareth tackling him in an instant with a face full of hate. 

“ _Basra_ ,” he snarled, and Dorian's heart about stopped.

“Qunari,” he gasped, and scrambled for anything to hit the elf with. His arms were pinned down and he screamed in agony as one of the daggers sliced open his hand, then opened a gash on his side and left thigh.

“Hissrad's always had a weakness for rescuing slaves,” Gareth hissed, straddling Dorian to pin him down. “What did you do to him, _altus_? Pretty magister's brat like you, how much did you bleed to make him betray us all?”

Dorian tried to scream again but it was futile. Gareth's face flickered in and out, the room flipping between Skyhold and Villa Maurel. Ramond Maurel's voice mixed with Gareth as a hand wrapped around his neck.

“ _I'll kill you slowly and leave you for the rats to find_.”

 _No no no no no no no_ , he screamed internally. _Not again please no, please NO_ -

But he was pinned down and bleeding, weight on his throat. If he didn't move it would be so much easier. Maybe he'd pass out and Maurel would get bored again. Maurel liked him to struggle- should he struggle? Was he supposed to? He was so hungry, what was he supposed to do here? Should he lie still and try to think of nothing?”

“You broke him!”

The memory broke and Dorian screamed in agony as a blade pierced his shoulder. Gareth was still above him, chest heaving and- were those tears? A second stab and he screamed again. 

“Ten years! Ten years he survived on Seheron but you couldn't leave him alone, could you? You fucked him and you turned him from us!”

Dorian bared his teeth, tasting blood from where he'd bit through his lip. “You give my ass too much credit,” he said, and was backhanded for his troubles. He went to move his arms to cast and screamed as the elf grabbed one of the broken stones from the wall and smashed it down on his arm. He _felt_ the familiar crack of breaking bone and wailed, trying to scramble back despite it. Gareth stood up off of him, walking over to pick up his beloved glaive from its resting place on the rack. 

“Nice weight on this,” he said, spinning it. “He spoiled you. He spoiled me too. Did he kill your master too?” 

Dorian tried to scramble back, his right arm useless and agonizing while his left shoulder and left hand bled from the wounds. He found himself in the corner, trapped. 

“He called me Gatt. Now, I'm Tallis, but you can think of me as Gatt too, I suppose,” Gatt said. He strode over, lifting the glaive to point its wicked blade at Dorian's chest. “You think you suffered? I was eight when they brought me to Seheron on a boat. As a _toy_. At least you had a life before.”

Dorian couldn't move. The room was beginning to swim again. 

Gatt touched the tip of the glaive to his stomach, the razor sharp blade cutting through the fabric with barely a whisper to press lightly against his skin. “I'm going to stick you like this,” Gatt said conversationally. “Let you bleed out with a belly wound. Die choking on your own blood and vomit. Your countrymen did worse to mine. Think of it like mercy. After this, I get to let Hissrad find you.”

Dorian grinned, spitting out blood.

“Hate to disappoint you,” he rasped out, “but you made one major mistake.”

“And what's that?” 

“You gave me a weapon.”

Dorian grabbed the staff with his bloody left hand, and sent lightning racing down its length. Horror tangled with it, making it a deep black and purple haze as it surrounded and attacked Gatt. He shrieked until his voice box burned away from the lightning, his body jerking and thrashing as it was overloaded with electricity.

The body dropped, charred to a crisp. Dorian promptly vomited to the side, and was about to again when the door opened and Helisma stepped inside with the serenity of Andraste herself. She was carrying a blade that was dripping green poison.

“Apologies,” she said tonelessly. “I intended to kill him before he harmed you. I was too late.”

“Helisma,” Dorian managed. “Run. Get Fiona. I will die if you do not. Run and tell Leliana there are Qunari in Skyhold once you have fetched Fiona.”

She nodded shortly, and ran.

Dorian looked down at the corpse, and mustered up enough saliva to spit to the side. “That's for the dreadnaught,” he told it. “And for Bull, and for me. Fuck you, and fuck the Qun.”

His head fell back against the wall, and he stared up at the leaves on his walls. Some of them had blood splattered on him.

“Home sweet home,” he said, almost hysterical, and everything went black.

 

 

 

 

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarifications: 
> 
> 1\. Bull is still in a bad headspace and somewhat suicidal.
> 
> 2\. Gatt tricks Dorian into being alone with him and attempts to kill him through very violent means. Dorian triumphs and kills him instead after being violently injured with Gatt crushing his arm with a rock to break bones, and being stabbed several times.


	38. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for PTSD related flashbacks (Bull flashing non descriptively back to reeducation), and a very sad wedding.

**“What dreams we have may come to pass-  
** or, perhaps, stay dreams. What can I say,  
my love?  
Are we not all dreams walking on this world?” 

**From a letter between Headwoman Nahira d'Bettani to Shokrakar of the Valo-kas, 9:44 Dragon.**

oOo

Dorian woke up slowly, and groaned as the bone deep ache of a heavy healing set in. His vision swam, and he had to blink a few times before the ceiling of the infirmary and Herah's anxious face came into focus.

“Don't move,” she said quietly, taking his hand. “You've just come out of about three hours worth of healing and surgery. Vivienne and Solas have been working with some of the spirit healers to mend you but you're still going to need more sessions. You lost a lot of blood and it was a bit touch and go for a while there until Gereon and Tana came and did the transfusion spell. Gereon donated the blood for it, so if your magic is off for a few days it might be because of that.”

Dorian managed to squeeze her hand slightly, just to the edge of pain in his hand from the freshly healed stab wound. His shoulder was stiff and sore as well, and his stomach tender. His bones had been healed, clearly, but his arm was still in a simple cast and sling to keep it still while his body healed some more. He licked dry lips, and Herah disappeared from his vision, reappearing with a waterskin that she helped him drink blessedly cool water from. He cleared his throat, even that an exhausting task, and squeezed her hand gently again. Her lips trembled, eyes filling up with tears. 

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said, his voice still a bit hoarse. “Was anyone else hurt?”

Herah nodded, blinking rapidly, but a few tears still escaped down her cheeks. “They made a very shoddy attempt to kill Bull this morning a little after you left, but four of them attacked the Chargers when they were on their way down to the river camp. Only Skinner was wounded. They killed three, and captured one.”

Dorian looked around with a jolt of fear, and found Skinner in the bed three down from his, fast asleep and drooling. His heart eased, and he sighed in relief. “I didn't know that they would let you do transfusion spells down here,” he said, carefully taking the waterskin for another drink. “Since it's magic involving blood.”

“Solas threw a fit at them,” Herah said with a quavering smile. “Once he explained how it can even be done without magic entirely Vivienne got on board with it and Cullen helped by throwing even more fits at people until they cooperated. You and I can share blood too, we're the same type! I didn't even KNOW there were different types, it's absolutely amazing. I made Gereon test me. It was so amazing to see it, Dorian, I want to make a machine to help with it. Do you know how many people could be saved with just that?”

Dorian chuckled, smiling despite the pain. “Good on them,” he said, “and that's good to know. I should hope we never have to put it to the test.”

Herah nodded, wiping a few stray tears away. “I was scared,” she confided. “Really scared. It barely missed the big artery in your thigh. The little ones were scared too, they're with Bull now and won't leave his side.”

“Where is he?” 

“Just outside with them. They've been waiting for you to wake up.” Herah took a deep, shuddering breath. “You made us all very nervous, Dorian.”

“My apologies, _amica_ ,” he said fondly, squeezing her hand again. “Can I see them?”

“I'll go get them. The healers say you're not supposed to move much, since you're still weak.”

“Not a problem.” He let her help him sit up and prop pillows behind his back, wincing a little as his side twinged. He pulled up the loose shirt that he'd been dressed in, and found that it was simply stitched shut. “I take it I was too exhausted for a full healing.”

“Much too exhausted,” Herah confirmed. “They barely managed to keep the nerves in your hand, leg, and shoulder all together. Thankfully the bones in your arm are healing extremely well. You're just going to have to be very careful.”

Dorian sighed, grimacing. “And just as I started to practice with heavy armor again. The Qun can eat my entire ass.”

Herah giggled helplessly, and then gently hugged him. “I'll go get them, alright?”

Dorian nodded, and in hardly a breath Sabine and Marcella were at his side.

“Hello,” he said, smiling at them with as much reassurance as he could, and Sabine promptly burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. Marcella carefully leaned in to hug him, pressing her face into his chest. She was shaking, and he carefully wrapped an arm around her to gently hug her. “I know, I'm sorry. Come here, Sabine, I'm alright.” 

Bull ducked into the room, his shoulder bandaged and looking older than Dorian had ever seen him. There was exhaustion in every line of his face, and Dorian's heart ached at the sight. 

“Alright, come up,” he said, and Sabine immediately climbed onto the bed to huddle against him. 

Bull sat on the other side, resting one hand on his leg. “You okay?”

“A bit stiff, but I'll be alright. I'll be sore for a while but I'll live.” 

Marcella pulled back, rubbing her eyes free of tears. “Lysander said your arm was in a bunch of pieces,” she said, her voice shaky. “He said it took four of them to put it back together. They had to use a bunch of lyrium and the Commander was very upset and had to go be sick.”

Dorian looked to Bull, who looked equally surprised. “Cullen wasn't feeling well?”

“He's not taking it,” Marcella whispered. “I...I couldn't help it, I was taking trinkets back after I took them and he was just _looking_ at the philter and he said- He said if I was so good at stealing I should take it away and hide it where he could never, ever find it and I _did_ , I _did_ , and now he's just so sick. I didn't think it would make him sick if I took it.” She clamped her hands over her mouth, looking horrified.

“Maker,” Dorian whispered, pulling Marcella in for a hug. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

“No.” She hugged him back, careful of his shoulder. “I didn't think I was supposed to, I'm sorry.”

“You did the right thing,” Dorian said, kissing her temple. “You did very good, Marcella. Bull and I will talk to him about it, okay?”

She nodded, and Sabine curled in against his wounded side even tighter, tucking her head into a little ball. Dorian leaned his head against her, able to feel the tiny butterfly-fast beat of her heart. Bull rose and came closer, bending down to kiss his forehead with such tenderness that Dorian closed his eyes and felt a few tears of his own trickle out.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice tight from holding in the sobs. “I'll have to trouble you for a guard, tonight.”

“As if you have to ask,” Bull said, his voice a faint rumble. “I have to go, Leliana needs my help identifying any others that might have infiltrated. Hissrad is with her now, I have to go to them.”

Dorian shivered, and rather than alert the girls quickly signed, 'Will you be all right?'

Bull nodded.

Dorian signed quickly, 'Come back soon. Must talk about this.'

Bull nodded once more, bent to kiss his cheek, and left.

Marcella climbed onto the bed with him and curled up against his other side, tucking her chin under his head. Not for the first time, he felt a pang of homesickness for the children he had come to call his own. They were beyond his reach now, but the mage children of Ferelden were under his care now. He pressed a kiss to the top of Marcella's head, closing his eyes against the tears. He was sore and exhausted, every ounce of his body feeling as though he'd taken the worst whipping of his life, but he was alive and the children were safe.

Sabine finally spoke, her voice shaky. “Dorian, why'd they try to kill Bull and you and the Chargers?”

Dorian sighed, resting a hand on her head. “Bull was ordered to do something awful,” he said. “He said no, and the Qun decided it wasn't worth having him.”

Sabine looked up, lips trembling. “But- but why did they want to kill you and Krem and Dalish and-” her voice broke. “And Skinner and everyone?”

Dorian's heart ached for her. “Because, Sabine, some things are worse than death. For Bull, having the people he loved die when he could do nothing to save them? That would be worse. They wanted to make him suffer for not bowing to them. You understand?”

Fat tears spilled onto her cheeks but she wiped them away, nodding, and composed her face. “Yeah.”

The door opened again and Dorian felt both girls _pull_ and direct magic to their hands. A stiletto appeared in Marcella's hand, but it was only Maevaris. She looked at the girls thoughtfully, a bit of a smile on her lips. 

“They said I could come in.” Her voice was soft and warm, and she gently brushed her hair back behind her ear. “Call off your little ones, Dorian, I'm here to watch you as well.”

Marcella's eyes narrowed, but Dorian gently tugged her back. “It's alright, this is Mae. She's a friend of mine, a Magister from Tevinter and Varric's cousin.”

Both girls had a moment of incredibly confused pause, and Mae smiled. “I married his cousin,” she explained, covering her hand with her mouth. “I'm not actually a very tall dwarf.”

“You're very pretty,” Sabine said shyly, and Dorian's eyebrows rose a little. “Do you think I could get as tall as you? You're even taller than the Commander, but that's not hard, because he's all furry with that weird coat so he looks big even though he's not as big as you think, because he's like a mabari where he's all muscle-y.”

Ah, all was right with the world again. Dorian relaxed. If Sabine was back to speaking like a racehorse, all was well.

“Muscle-y isn't a word,” Marcella said primly.

“Is too. I said it and you knew immediately what I meant by it, so it _is_ a word but it's just not in common parlance.” Sabine looked very pleased with herself, and looked up at Dorian. “Right?”

“Technically yes,” Dorian said, chuckling. “Girls, will you watch the door for us? I need to speak with Mae alone, please.”

Sabine gave him a quick hug before climbing off the bed. Marcella did the same, and they went to the door, Sabine grabbing a rather hefty piece of wood in the meantime. Dorian smiled fondly, and when the door closed he let the pain finally show on his face. Mae sat in the same chair that Herah had, her face gone more somber. Her hand, still callused despite its exquisite manicure, gently brushed the beginnings of his curls back and forth before cupping his face.

“You suffer too much, my dear,” she said quietly. “Over and over. How do you do it.”

Dorian laughed slightly, grimacing as his stitches pulled a little. “Pure spite, Mae. Pure spite.”

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. “Of course. Felix is in an absolute state, as you might imagine.”

“Oh, Maker, Felix is going to tear me in two,” he muttered. “I'm surprised he hasn't tried to physically pin me down to keep me closer.”

“No.” Mae smiled, patting his hand. “You and Felix are two restless men, always have been. Tying either of you down is a waste of time, you'll always wriggle free out of pure determination.”

“That's fair.” He sighed, and hesitated a moment before asking, “Do you know if there are any laws in place now preventing the adoption of a family to continue a line? There never have been before, and I know there's precedent.”

“None that I'm aware of.” Mae's eyebrows rose. “Is there a family you want to bring into House Pavus?”

“The children and wife of my first owner,” Dorian admitted. “The eldest is Laetan, the mother from Nevarra. I don't know if the other two boys have shown yet, but after I killed Capheus, Magister Atellian took them in and sold me off in the middle of the night. He was very interested in Theodora, the wife, and I know he's put Phelan up to school. Could you pull some strings and find out where they are? If-If it would be possible, I want to bring them into the house. The children and Theodora often suffered more than me. He beat them, viciously. He nearly killed Theodora.”

“I'll do my best,” Mae promised. “I'll be discreet.”

“Thank you.” Dorian grimaced as a flash of pain went through his side. “The water, if you will.”

oOo

Helisma was waiting outside of the entrance to the little room in the main Keep where they were keeping the last of the Viddathari. Her somber face looked up at Bull as he approached her, and remained completely emotionless as he drew to a stop.

“How did you know that Gatt was going to kill him?” Bull asked, when the silence grew unbearable.

“It is my job to know of dangerous things and remove them,” Helisma said, toneless. “He was dangerous.”

“What showed you that he was dangerous?” Bull clarified. Linear thinking could be difficult to follow sometimes, but he’d been a part of the Qun long enough to know how to handle such a thing. Direct questions were the easiest to answer, and didn’t need thinking outside the box.

Helisma opened her belt pouch and passed him a scrap of bloodied fabric. On it, a tiny diamond was stitched. Bull recognized it. The House of Waves symbol, done in tiny work in thread the exact same color as the cloth, was something everyone on Seheron had worn when he was Ben-Hassrath. Depending on where it was stitched, it showed what your job was, what rank you were, and what squadron you were a part of if you had one. Bull looked back to Helisma, stunned. “You… you could see this?”

“My senses are unclouded,” she said simply. “I have spoken with the Valo-Kas who are Tal Vashoth and they told me of signs. Though I do not think they meant to.” She blinked at him, serene eyes staring into his very soul. “He was not smart. He wore it on his collar for everyone to see.”

Bull’s throat constricted. Gatt, a freed slave, wearing the Ben-Hassrath brand on his collar? Subtle. And suicidal.

“Thank you, Helisma,” he said, looking back down at the fabric. “Do you need this back?”

“No.” She let her hands fall. “I have brought it for you as someone who knew him. I know that others often use symbols to mourn the dead that they cannot hold.”

Bull swallowed down the lump in his throat with ease of long practice and straightened up. She waited, watching still. “Thank you again,” he said, “and I believe Dorian will want to speak to you and thank you for your work as well. While you might not feel the need to be thanked, it would make him feel better and aid his recovery. Please go to speak with him when you have time.”

Helisma nodded. “I will go to him shortly,” she said, and walked away.

Bull ran his thumb over the raised diamond on the fabric, heart aching, and shoved it into his pocket. After a deep breath, he opened the door to the holding room, and only just managed to avoid flinching at the sight of Hissrad of the Valo-kas, whose silver eyes seemed flat and cold. Aashad 2, Leliana, and another of the Valo-kas that Bull had never met were there as well, looking down at the kneeling Viddathari. This one was human, shaped in the way of most human males, and sweating profusely.

“ _Clumsy_ ,” Hissrad-Viddathiss said in Qunlat. “ _Poorly trained and sent to die to prove a point. Your number, viddathari._ ”

The Viddathari lowered their head. “8819-87488-22465”

Hissrad-Viddathiss noted this down on a piece of paper. “ _Do you know who I am?_ ”

The Viddathari squirmed uncomfortably. “ _Viddathiss 848-92-92, once of Qunandar, now only a Tal-Vashoth._ ”

“ _Correct. Why do you know this, viddathari?_ ”

The viddathari began to shake, bowing down. “ _Because you made me, Viddathiss_.”

“ _Correct._ ”

Bull couldn’t hold back a shudder of pure fear, muscles frozen in place. He wanted nothing more than to run, to get out, to flee, but he couldn’t move while the Viddathiss was talking.  The Viddathiss paused, turning to him. Bull stood perfectly still, arms loose at his sides, waiting for his orders so that the Viddathiss wouldn’t be angry. In the back of his mind, the place that nothing could touch, he knew he was screaming, begging his more present thoughts to remember that he was no longer in Qunandar. The air felt oppressively heavy and hot, and the silver eyes of Viddathiss bored in to him and dug out every secret he didn’t know he had. The stink of the reeducation chambers stung his nose, and his ears buzzed with white noise.

Viddathiss blinked, and his eyes darkened. “The Iron Bull,” he said, every syllable laced with pure command, “you will leave us.”

“Yes, Viddathiss,” Bull said, mouth moving on his own. Under no control of his own, he turned in jerky motions, opened the door, stepped out, and pulled it shut.

The training held so strongly he walked a full ten steps before he collapsed to the ground and gasped for air, retching slightly before getting control back.

Seheron hadn’t even come close to the nightmare of reeducation. Nothing did. Nothing would ever make him clean again from the hate and revulsion of the others, nothing would ever scrub that horrible smell of death and decay from his nose, the screams out of his ears, he was _nothing nothing nothing but the Qun's tool_ -

“Oh, shit,” voices said as he swayed, trying and failing to get to his feet. “Here, help him up-“

Unfamiliar hands helped him up, and despite the way the world seemed to be tilting at an alarming rate Bull looked down to find a few servants helping him up. A quick check over their clothes in the usual spots showed no signs of the House of Waves embroidery, and he carefully got back to his feet. Three of them looked up at him in concern

“Sir, are you alright?”

“No,” he said, unable to stop himself. “I’m really, really not.”

“Shit.” The servants carefully led him to a bench a ways down the hall, where others were passing back and forth. The oldest of the lot he knew, a weathered Elven woman with a nasty scar down her cheek named Callara. She carefully cupped his forehead and frowned.

“Who can we send for that you trust?” she demanded, feeling spots on his neck and frowning deeper.

“Sorry, what?”

“You need a healer immediately,” Callara said, “you’ve some sort of poison in you. We heard all about that mess with the killers trying to get the Chargers and your young man, who can we get to escort you to the infirmary?”

“Madame Vivienne,” he said, “or Solas, Varric, Sera… any of the inner circle. I've already taken the antidote.”

Callara nodded briskly, looking to a young lanky human who ran off like a shot. She snapped her fingers at another, who hurried forward. “Fetch Antony from the kitchens as well, and tell him to bring the worst of the bowls in case he does vomit.” The other boy ran off in a different direction, and she took a step back, look him over with hard, but not unkind eyes. “You've had a hard while of it, The Iron Bull.”

_Ebost issala, Tal-Vashoth!_

“You could say that,” he said, thinking of the vengeful pleasure of tossing the fools who'd tried to kill him off of the wall. 

Callara considered him for a moment before shaking her head. “Well, can't do much about it from here,” she said bluntly, “but others can. I've friends who've gotten stuck in this same thing as you. Getting kicked out, even when they didn't really want to be going in the first place. It's a complicated place to be, to be sure. In the mean time it sucks ugly, hairy balls, but you'll get to a better place or die trying, so I guess that's something.”

Bull felt oddly touched. “Thanks, Callara.”

She grinned at him, fond. “All the same, I'd rather you didn't die in the process.”

“You got it, ma'am.”

Herah came around the corner at top speed, and nearly hit the wall. “Bull! What's this about poison?”

The first of the servants came back, wheezing. “Sorry,” he told Bull, “she was the first I ran into.”

Bull waved a hand, grimacing. “It's not that bad,” he assured her. “I wasn't even worth sending the real professionals for. They used saar-qamek, the liquid form. I'd be going crazy and puking my guts out if I hadn't been keeping up taking the antidote. It still stings like shit but no worse than before.”

Herah gestured like she was strangling him. “You couldn't have told us there was poison when you were getting patched up?!”

“My attack was just a formality,” he said, wincing a little. “The rest, those were hits to hurt me. But mine was nothing. Blades against me? Just making it perfectly clear that I'm Tal-Vashoth.” The words hit like a hammer, and he let his head fall back, sighing. “Tal-Va- _fucking_ -shoth.”

“So?”

Bull lifted his head, surprised. Herah had straightened up to the best of her height, which admittedly wasn't much, and put her hands on her hips. They were shaking a little. “You've been acting Tal-Vashoth for years. That didn't change you, neither does this.”

Bull shook his head, amazed at her innocence. “Herah, that was just a role. A job. _This_ is my life. As one of... those. I killed hundreds of Tal-Vashoth on Seheron. Murderers, bandits, bastards who turned their back on the Qun. And now I'm one of them.”

“Bullshit.”

Bull started, looking into her vibrant blue eyes. She stared him down, eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Bull. Shit.” She crossed her arms. “You think I don't know the horror stories? I grew up in the place they call Little Qunandar. Don't think for a second there weren't Tal-Vashoth in my home who weren't from Seheron too. The ones who made it out sane, they talked about the ones who didn't. You're not them. Some of the others were Tal-Vashoth as a badge of pride that they survived, others toss it away like it would burn their tongue to say it, if they still have one. You don't want to be Tal-Vashoth, fine. Don't be. Just be The Iron Bull, Captain of the Chargers, a man starting fresh. But I think it's worth saying, and worth being. You're a good man, with or without the Qun.”

“Without a structure, without the Qun to live by-” he began, but the excuse and fear somehow seemed hollow.

“Without the Qun there is still a world before you, full of people with morals and a sense of purpose,” Herah said. “Without the Qun, the world still turns, the sun rises and sets, and paperwork still has to get done. Without the Qun, there is still a place for you. And without the Qun, there are still plenty of people who care for you and will help you through the darkness.”

Bull swallowed hard, and nodded. Herah stood before him, a tiny thing, full of fire and fury and pure determination. “You're right,” he said, voice soft. “Thanks, boss.”

Herah nodded sharply, lips trembling a little. “And don't you forget it.”

“I won't.”

oOo

Hissrad of the Valo-kas found him that evening in the mews with the nestling. 

At first, Bull didn't recognize him. He was dressed normally, but with a veil covering his face and eyes- sheer enough to see through, thick enough to hide his face. His horns and slim frame were a dead giveaway. 

“I'm leaving Skyhold,” he said before Bull could say anything. 

“What?”

“I'm leaving,” Hissrad said simply. “I cannot stand to sit here and watch you suffer, and you cannot heal with me being here and tearing open old wounds. I'm going elsewhere, to a place to heal and reflect on how to heal myself.”

Bull carefully put the nestling into its cage, trying to hide how his hands shook to be so close to the man who had remade him. “Do the others know?”

“Of course. I told Shokrakar after-” his voice shook. “After the deprogramming. I broke him from it, I set him free again. He'll never be right again, but at least he won't fall on the Qun's sword. I have come face to face with too many people I've destroyed, and it's killing me. But I needed to tell you about this place before I left. I was the one who destroyed you the first time, perhaps you can use it to rebuild yourself.”

Bull looked back at him, wishing he didn't feel so trapped in the mews.

“There is a place of healing, two of them in fact,” Hissrad said, adjusting his veil. “The first is for Tal-Vashoth, and Tal-Vashoth alone. It is known as the House of Granite. The other is the House of Grass, and it is for only Vashoth. They can help you. I advise you see them. Shokrakar will know the instructions to give.”

“How have I never heard of them?” Bull asked. “Not even a whisper?”

“Because they are the most closely guarded secret of the qunari community,” Hissrad said. “Beyond anything else, it is kept completely hidden. The only ones who know the path are those who would die to defend them. Those who work within their sacred walls are sworn to more secrecy than any member of the Magesterium or the Triumvirate. They are holy places, sacred to all of us. They care for the mind and the body, building back up what is destroyed by war or destruction, the Qun or everyday life. The House of Granite allows for cloistered stay, which some who have suffered greatly choose. I may join them, spending the rest of my days within their walls, because to reopen my eyes to the horrors I have done-” Hissrads voice cracked. “I cannot say I deserve to live a life in the world outside. So. For now, farewell. I hope we never meet again.”

Bull nodded, unable to speak, and Hissrad ducked back out the door.

oOo

Saturday came with a gust of warm wind, and with it the wedding of Herah Adaar and Felix Alexius.

The ceremony was quiet. Gentle, even. Felix was using the last of his sigil marks, a full month, and looked better than ever. He and Herah matched, in plain boots and brown breeches, white shirts and soft crowns of flowers in the garden. The Inner Circle, the Valo-kas, the main force of the Chargers, and Gereon Alexius attended with Russet as his guard. Everyone was dressed in their simplest clothing, even Leliana, who read the Rites in a plain green dress that made her hair shine bright in the sunlight. Gereon was silent the whole way through, eyes streaming tears, and Dorian cried silently through most of it. Herah and Felix were the picture of serenity, and exchanged no vows. Felix kissed her forehead as one single tear made its way down her face, and she kissed his temple as they held each other in silence.

The whole thing seemed dreamlike, surreal. The garden was full of flowers, brought to life in vibrant color. Crystal grace, embrium, arbor blossom, and more decorated the garden and sprays of baby's breath had been placed here and there as more decoration. They, like Felix, would die sooner than later, but under a cloudless sky everyone sat down for a picnic lunch, and laughed and joked and cried together. The Inner Circle 

Dorian, as the best man, was at Felix's side. They settled on the blanket, and Dorian pushed the flower crown he wore back up on top of his head where it had grown lopsided.

“You'll have to give a speech later,” Felix said, handing him a basket of sandwiches. Dorian, feeling very mature, stuck his tongue out at him. Felix snorted.

“It's your wedding, so I will indulge you, but I hope you know I'm terribly upset at speaking in front of all of our dear friends and family,” he said dryly, and kissed Felix' cheek. “I'm outraged, I tell you. Here I am, on the brink of death-”

“That was Monday, Dorian. You're fine.”

“- _brink of death_ , and you want me to stand up and tell everyone about how much I love you. Well, if you insist.”

Felix's eyes went soft, and despite his best efforts Dorian's eyes welled up with tears again. He looked away hurriedly, clearing his throat. 

“Then again, I suppose it's only fair,” he said, busying himself with some of the rolls. “You went to my funeral, after all. I'll get to go to yours as well. How many people can say that?”

“Dorian.”

“I mean-”

Felix took his hand, and Dorian looked back at him. Felix's eyes were full of tears, but he was smiling. “Dorian, I love you too. So much. I never did tell you enough how much you meant to me. There's not enough time in the day to do that, I think, but whatever or whoever brought you back into my life to see me today, with the person I love, able to bicker with me and laugh and smile and tell me just one more time-” his voice caught. “So many people want just one more chance. Just one more day, to say goodbye properly, to tell their friend they love them. Just one more moment, just half a breath, and I got a whole half a year with the person I lost. To say goodbye the right way. Each day, each day it's such a gift and there are so many of those days where life caught us both back up. But Maker, Dorian. Dorian,” and he was in tears now, just like Dorian was, hands clasped tight together. “Dorian, my friend. Piece of my heart, my dearest friend and love. I am so sorry, and I missed you so much. I can't tell you how much I love you, how much I've missed you.”

Dorian pulled him into a hug, cradling his head as the sobs started coming and just wouldn't stop. 

There was so little time left. 

The days were numbered. 

This time, he was the one who would be left behind.

In time, the sobbing eased. In time, Gereon was coaxed over, told them both how proud he was. Told Herah that by rights, she would have a seat in the Magesterium and everyone else could fuck right off, the lawyers would get on it and that she was to be given an inheritance as well. 

And then it was really time for Dorian to give his speech.

He found his way to his feet, sending some sparks to get everyone's attention. Their faces all turned obediently up to him, and he quavered inside before drawing instinctively on his own training from so many years ago. He gave a little wave, smiling. “Hello, everyone. Felix asked me to say a few words, so I'll do my best to get through this without crying or needing an interpreter- but if I do, Bull, if you'd please.” Bull gave him a thumbs up from four blankets over, and he nodded. “Right. Well.” He cleared his throat.

“Here we are,” he began, and a sort of stillness washed over everyone. “Here we are, at the start and end of so many things. At the start of a marriage, and soon, far too soon, we know it will end.” He took a deep breath, looking to them. “But that doesn't matter in this moment, here and now. Here, and now, in this living and breathing moment, with the world crashing around us all, you have chosen love over despair. Hope, in the face of tragedy and adversity. Each day we wake to a new world, each breath we take alters the way the next moment is begun. Together, you take shaky steps to a new future. A brighter one, a kinder one, one where we can face hope with our heads held high, unafraid. You have brought us together to the precipice of a new world. My friends.” His voice broke as he raised his glass. “My dear, wonderful friends. To Herah and Felix, and most of all, to hope.”

 _To hope_ , echoed around the garden.

At some point, much later, tiny magelights lit the air, and at some point there was dancing. 

Bull let Dorian be until Herah and Felix were doing a slow, delicate waltz under lights inside the gazebo. Dorian leaned into his side when he appeared, not bothering to hide his tears while he watched.

“So little time,” he whispered. “Damn the world.”

Bull kissed the top of his head, and Dorian closed his eyes against it all.

The world kept turning regardless.

“Stay with me?” he asked, without opening his eyes. “I can't be alone tonight.”

“Of course.”

They left before the serious drinking set in, and Bull didn't complain when Dorian soaked through one of his pillows with his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: Woops I forgot these notes the first time.
> 
> A couple things about this chapter. 1st, Herah and Felix were originally going to get married shortly after Dorian and Krem came back from being kidnapped. That was a while ago, you might have noticed. Their wedding, simple and plain and quiet, is one of the things I've had planned the longest. 2nd, Theodora/Teo and her family have the L O N G E S T sideplot in TKC. A short eternity later and we might actually get to them. 3rd, I really wanted to have Felix and Dorian getting to say goodbye to each other.
> 
> Also, please be aware that it may be a bit before this updates again, as we're coming up on some chapters that are, shall we say, very tender to my soul to write. 
> 
> This year, actually while I was working on this chapter, my friend died. The last time I'd spoken to her had been at her wedding, and I had a lot of time while on the way to her funeral to think about farewells. In my culture, death is considered sad, but a somewhat pragmatic approach is taken. For most people wearing black is rude, and spring colors are what you wear to funerals. We don't have wakes, but we have a post funeral feast, and there's a lot of laughter and sharing of stories. But I never got a proper goodbye, to her or the three other friends I've lost in my 23 years of life. Writing this, I got to give that goodbye. Those few brief moments that we all wish for, when our minds are wailing with grief.
> 
> One last goodbye, to those I never got to say it to.


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